A Fly in the Ointment
by lemonjay
Summary: A Fly in the Ointment: An idiomatic expression that loosely means some drawback or annoyance has appeared that spoils an otherwise positive situation or circumstance. A DA2 story about Isabela and Garrett Hawke set in the third act.
1. Chapter 1

**Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, and all related characters, locations, etc. are the property of BioWare. No infringement upon any of BioWare's rights as owner is intended, and is not authorized by the copyright holder. I do not profit in any way from the writing of this work of fan fiction.**

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_Author's long-winded Notes:_

I hope that you'll bear with a little as I explain the history of what prompted me to write this piece. If not, please feel free to scroll down to where the story actually begins. I promise I won't be offended. I would have put these notes as a separate chapter to make it easier for you to skip them, but it's against the site's guidelines.

Still Here? Thank you.

When I posted my story 'Recriminations of an Empty Bed' (shameless plug inserted - check) much of the feedback I received either through reviews or pm was asking for more. At the time I was (and still am) working on a Isabela/f!Hawke story (as well as plugging away on the two ongoing stories I've left hanging and hope to update soon - I hate when that happens too, sorry!), but I promised myself that if an idea came to me then I would revisit 'Recriminations'.

Two things collided recently: I decided to replay DA2 after setting it aside some time ago, and I treated myself to the PC version of Scrivener. I dutifully imported my existing stories and half thought out writings into it and thought _what now?_ Eventually I decided that instead of trying to continue an existing project that a brand new story might be a better way to get comfortable with the program and its features. [Not to sound like I'm giving a software review, but so far I'm loving Scrivener even though I'm barely scratching the surface of what it can do.]

Looking through my idea book, and with DA2 fresh in my mind, I decided to write this as my Scrivener trial run. While to me the characters are the ones from 'Recriminations' it didn't make sense to update that story as this story takes place much later in the characters lives. That being said this story can be read without first reading 'Recriminations' (although why not, it's only 650 words - shameless plug #2) as the only assumptions I make are that the reader has played Dragon Age II and has a familiarity with the characters and locales. This story takes place in the later stages of Act III, but before the final confrontations.

Now onto a little rant about Isabela.

Isabela is a great, fun character and easily (along with Varric) one of my favourites from DA2.

To me Isabela works as a character in the game and in Fan Fiction because she is so versatile: need a kick-ass rogue to take down some enemies or pick some locks - Isabela's your girl; a sultry, seductive woman to add some spice - Isabela's the easy pick (in more ways than one); or need someone to deliver a humorous, often sexually charged, one liner - Isabela's got your back. Even though I'd heard it before I still almost spit out my drink when I was replaying DA2 and Isabela uttered her line about Aveline's thumb. I'd forgotten just how funny some of the random conversations could be.

Pick any situation and Isabela fits the bill more often than not. The world of DA2, Kirkwall, and especially Hawke's story is a very bleak one where so much is dark, under threat, and lost, but to me Isabela best reminds us that there can still be fun. Isabela, besides being a worthy rogue in her own right, serves to lighten the mood and generally take the mickey out of the more serious characters (_cough - Aveline, cough, cough - Fenris)_.

Of course that's not to say that Isabela is a shallow, one note character - far from it. In my opinion, one of the things BioWare does perhaps better than any other developer is create deep, rich characters and worlds for their games. I like Skyrim and Fallout and many other RPGs but at the end of the day, to me at least, there isn't the same connection to the characters, their stories, and their world as in the Dragon Age (or Mass Effect) games. Most of those other characters and their supporting cast end up being rather bland and unremarkable in comparison. Generally, apart from finishing the game, I couldn't care less what becomes of them and certainly wouldn't think to write about them.

Bringing my rant back to our illustrious pirate, have your Hawke interact with Isabela or better yet romance her and the layers are peeled back exposing a far deeper character than what appears at first glance. In this story I am hoping to put Isabela in a situation outside her comfort zone and bring out some of how I see her - a flawed character, created by often cruel and harsh circumstances (admittedly some of her own making), but strong and determined to live her life on her own terms. Yet, she is also a character who can be a fiercely devoted friend and lover even if it goes against her 'better' instincts.

I think one of the biggest flaws with Isabela is in how she sees herself. She doesn't believe in love or lasting commitments because deep down Isabela doesn't think that she's worthy or deserving of them. So she armours herself against the truth and regrets, and lives accordingly and unapologetically solely in the present. Her personal motto seems to be: _if I don't care then I can't get hurt._

In short, she is far from the 'tits and ass' bimbo that she might appear on first introduction.

/End of Rant

I don't know if my motivations and thoughts mean anything to you, but there they are for whatever they're worth.

I do hope you like my story and I thank you for reading (especially this large, somewhat rambling note if you've made it this far).

As always any comments, criticisms, or praise are both welcome and appreciated.

Also, barring any last minute revisions this story is finished and additional chapters will be posted every second day until complete.

Now let's get on with the show.

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**Chapter One:**

It was the morning sunlight breaking through the sheer curtains that woke Isabela up and let her know that something was wrong.

'_Where am I?'_ the pirate thought, knowing right away that she was not in her room at the Hanged Man.

Still in the grip of sleep Isabela began to take stock of her reality: she was naked and not in her own room or bed; her head was throbbing from the after effects of too much rum; and speaking of throbbing, there was a hard cock nestled in the crack of her ass and a hand on her tit.

She felt the person behind her begin to stir. Her movements, slight as they were, must have woken whoever's bed this was, eliminating any chance of a clean escape.

"Bela, is something wrong?" a deep, groggy voice asked in her ear.

Unconsciously she sighed in relief, recognizing the voice. She would never admit it aloud, but she would have been upset and disappointed had she woken up in similar straits with anyone else.

"No Hawke, just trying to remember what happened last night."

Now that Isabela knew she was with Hawke, bits of last night came back to her and her surroundings became more familiar. She remembered playing Diamondback last night here at his estate with their friends and staying after everyone had left - it was a long walk back to Lowtown after all. There had also been a couple of shots of rum, but not nearly enough for the hangover she currently possessed. While the stakes for their card games were not high the bragging rights were immense and she had wanted to keep a clear head. Besides which rum, ale, brandy, and even whiskey (the good stuff Hawke kept in his study) didn't seem to taste right to her lately.

The headache and the curtains had thrown her off, but now she vaguely remembered Hawke saying that Orana had made new curtains for his bedroom. The pirate smiled at the delicious memory of why that had been necessary. She had torn the curtains, rods and all, right off the windows while Hawke was fucking her raw on top of his desk a few nights ago. To his credit Hawke never missed a beat, only commenting that she was destroying his house after they had collapsed on his bed, spent.

"I've never fucked someone senseless before. I suppose I am a Champion at that too," Hawke deadpanned.

The pirate didn't need to turn to see the lopsided smirk or the glint in his blue eyes that together formed the smug, self-assured look that was no doubt upon his face. Yet turn she did, swinging the pillow that had previously been underneath her head at Hawke. "You bastard."

Hawke accepted the first pillow hit before even trying to catch Isabela's hands. While the blow was not entirely unexpected, the Rivaini pirate was fast and he probably would have taken it regardless. He also figured he owed Isabela that one for his comment, good natured though it was.

She got another hit in before Hawke finally managed to get a hold of her wrists. Switching tactics, the pirate quickly straddled Hawke's chest and used the additional leverage to begin to push his hands back above his head. As she leaned over him her breasts came into range of Hawke's mouth and he stretched up to take one into his mouth. Both rogues knew that there was more than one way to win a fight.

The pair continued their wrestling as foreplay until finally resuming where they left off last night.

…

Isabela rolled off her lover onto her back, and struggled to catch her breath. Hawke had always been a passionate lover but ever since she had begun spending entire nights in his bed their lovemaking had been raised to new heights. It was almost as if he was trying to prove something to her. Trying to give her a reason to stay and wake up beside him.

She had never been a morning person, late nights and too much drink saw to that, but Hawke was slowly trying to change that. Most mornings he would complain that she was the reason he now overslept to which she would respond that he was the reason they were up so late the night before. Then she would taunt Hawke, warning him that if he couldn't keep up then she would find someone younger who could. Of course Hawke was never one to refuse a challenge and their mornings typically began the same way their nights ended, with mind-blowing, unadulterated sex. It was such a perfect way to bookend the day that a small part of Isabela wondered why she had resisted for so long.

She felt Hawke turn to face her, his head resting on his left arm. His right hand reached out to cup her chin. Isabela turned onto her side, mirroring his pose. Hawke's eyes sparkled and he looked as though he was steeling up his courage to say something profound.

'_Don't say it. Please don't say it,'_ Isabela thought. Hawke had the look of someone about to say words of heartfelt adoration. She had seen the look before in the post-coital aftermath of a few lovestruck fools and it was a sign to her to get out quickly and never come back.

Most women in Kirkwall would give anything to share their Champion's bed or hear him express words of love and devotion, but Isabela was not most women. As much as she enjoyed Hawke's company, and that was far more than she cared to admit or deserved, the thought that Hawke might say he loved her filled her with dread.

Isabela didn't know what she'd do if he said those words. Probably run again for all the good it would do, just like she did after Hawke had damn near killed himself defeating the Qunari Arishok in single combat. He had fought not for the people of Kirkwall whose city was under siege, but to protect her. It had been a brutal and bloody battle and she remembered Hawke looking to her when things seemed at their worst. In the moment of his greatest doubt he had looked to her and she had seen the fear in his eyes. A fear not of his own death, but of what the Qunari would do to her as their prisoner if he failed and it had given him the strength and motivation to carry on and prevail.

It was that moment when Isabela had seen the depths of Hawke's feelings for her and it had scared the shit out of her. It had scared her so much that she had fled Kirkwall for almost three years until she had finally admitted to herself that Kirkwall and Hawke was where she belonged. It was another six months of the two of them tip-toeing around one another, trying to determine what the other's feelings were before they had found themselves in bed together again. Another eleven months of either Hawke or her sneaking out in the middle of the night from whoever's bed they had ended up in before Isabela had awakened one morning here in his bed, and that had only been two weeks ago.

At no time since Isabela had come back to Kirkwall had either of them shared their deepest feelings or discussed what happened during the time they were apart, and it worked for them. Sharing heartfelt declarations complicated things. She now spent the night for a few simple reasons: it was easier than walking back to the Hanged Man in the dead of night; Hawke's bed was more comfortable than her own; morning sex with Hawke was even better than night sex with Hawke and left her feeling surprisingly energized and alive; and finally breakfast at Hawke's was far better than the grub Corff served - that's it, end of story.

"Judging by the '_Oh Hawke, Oh Hawkes_' you know who I am," he moved his hand up to feel her brow and his voice dripped with false concern, "but do you know where you now are now?"

Isabela let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. She wasn't sure whether to smack Hawke or kiss him for not ruining her day. Unfortunately both were liable to lead to the rest of their morning being lost in bed and truthfully the rogue wasn't sure she could take anymore; Hawke had the stamina of a bull. Thankfully as she was thinking up a response there was a discrete knock on the bedroom door, letting them know that there was hot water in the lavatory and that breakfast was soon ready.

"Still have all my senses Hawke. Don't worry, I won't tell the Champion's many admirers that you're slipping." It was not her best comeback but Isabela wasn't prepared to give Hawke the last word. With a laugh Hawke began to get out of bed and Isabela smacked his bare ass, letting him think that she was desiring more and that he was leaving her wanting. She did that knowing that Hawke was too considerate of his servant's efforts to take up her challenge. He really was a lousy noble, but a great lover.

Hawke turned to face her. His eyes scanned her body from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, drinking her in and setting Isabela a quiver. He knelt on the bed and reached out and Isabela cursed herself, thinking that her challenge might have been accepted. Instead Hawke grabbed her hands and pulled. "Get up you pirate, we mustn't keep everyone waiting."

…

After a quick wash the pair dressed and went downstairs together to the kitchen. Hawke was perhaps the only noble in Kirkwall who ignored his fancy dining room and instead ate his meals in the kitchen with his servants. While his late mother Leandra had been born to nobility, Hawke was not and he wasn't comfortable with its trappings. He was the eldest son of an apostate father and a mother who had renounced her family for love. As he often said, "I grew up mucking out stables and baling hay." or "I know what it's like to go to bed after a hard day's work with an empty stomach."

"Good morning messeres," Bodahn said cheerfully as they entered the room. The dwarf waved Orana back to her seat and moved to dish out everyone's meal; beginning with Sandal (it was easier that way).

The conversation around the table was good and the meal even better: eggs, sausage, potatoes, porridge and even fresh fruit: mangoes, oranges, and her favourite strawberries. Isabela cleaned her plate before filling and emptying it once again. Gradually the talk moved to everyone's plans for the day. Hawke was going to the marketplace to have the straps on his armour replaced and offered to run some errands for Bodahn and Orana (again Hawke really was a lousy noble and didn't understand the concept of servants in Isabela's opinion) since he'd be in the market anyways.

"Care to join me Bela?" asked Hawke.

Isabela considered it, but this morning's rum induced hangover from really nothing, two shots at best, was bothering her; she could normally drink most people under the table and still be fine for another. She'd been putting off going to Anders' clinic to check on a few assorted maladies for some time, perhaps she should do that today - except she _**hated**_ seeing Anders for anything other than battlefield healing. It wasn't due to any lack of skill on the mage's part, but rather the rigamarole that went along with a visit. For each minute of healing there was ten minutes on the plight of mages and the oppression of the Chantry and another five about the importance of not giving her 'diseases' to Hawke. Honestly, it was a wonder that she hadn't killed him yet; if the people of Kirkwall or the Chantry knew just how much Isabela put up with they would have named her Champion instead or else vested her for Sainthood.

'_Perhaps I should stop by the Blooming Rose and see who Madame Lusine uses to care for her girls?'_ she thought. But no, that wouldn't work; Isabela seemed to remember that Anders had stepped into that role after the templars had captured the last healer she used.

A throat cleared and then the answer came to her.

"I think I might stop by the Gallows and see Bethany."

Isabela could have kicked herself. As soon as the words came out of her mouth she saw the pained look on Hawke's face. He had never forgiven himself for Bethany's removal to the Circle even though it had been his sister's own doing. To make matters worse, since Hawke had become Champion he had openly opposed Knight-Commander Meredith over the treatment of the mages in her care. And if there was one thing that could be said about that cast iron she-bitch Meredith it was that she was not tolerant of people who went against her; especially someone who Kirkwall citizens - noble and commoner alike - looked to for leadership in the absence of a Viscount. Meredith might be the person who now held the power in Kirkwall, but Hawke was the one that most of the citizens would rally around, and apart from Grand Cleric Elthina he was the only other person in the city who gave the templars and their leader pause.

Unable to confront Hawke directly, the templar hag had instead taken to using her control over both the access to and treatment of Bethany to jerk the Champion around and try to control or punish him. She didn't outright threaten Bethany, the one time she tried that Hawke's murderous look alone had been enough for the eight templars accompanying Meredith to draw their swords and Hawke had still looked like he was about to tear out her throat with his bare hands, but anything short of that seemed fair game. Lately Meredith's game had been to make it impossible for him to see, speak, or even write Bethany, yet strangely neither she, Aveline, Sebastian, or even Varric ever had any problems.

The stupid thing was that Hawke was at least as familiar with mages and hated blood magic just as much as any templar. The only real difference, and completely understandable considering his family history, is that Hawke believed there was a better way than the Circle in its present form. To him taking young mages away from their family and locking them up surrounded by trained killers was not the way to teach magic. A frightened young mage, like his sister Bethany had once been, needed the support of their family as they came into their power, and they needed to be trained in a supportive and understanding environment. They did not need templars threatening the rite of tranquility or a Chantry who preached that their magic was a curse and filled them with self-loathing. To his mind the templars and the Chantry were one of the main reasons why a mage would turn to blood magic.

"I'm sorry Hawke."

"No it's alright Bela," Hawke said as he forced himself to smile. "Can you tell Bethy that I love her and I miss her?"

The rogue nodded.

"I should get going." And just like that Hawke was gone.

Isabela wanted to chase after him. She wanted to apologize again and rail against Meredith and the injustice that he couldn't see his sister. She wanted to hold Hawke in her arms and provide whatever comfort she could, but she didn't know how and besides that wasn't her anyways. Instead she waited a few minutes to be certain that Hawke had left before grabbing some fruit and beginning the long walk first to the Hanged Man to pick up a few things and then on to the Gallows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Isabela leaned forward over the prow of the ferry taking her across the narrow stretch of water to the Gallows. It had been too long since she felt the gentle rolling of waves underneath her or the salty taste of the air on her lips and the cool sea breeze in her hair. The later two she could get at the docks or on the coast but it wasn't the same as actually being out here on the water. She was tempted to offer the rowers a few silvers to paddle around idly for awhile, however she doubted the two serious looking templars sharing the boat with her would approve. She slipped her hand down into the cool water and let it rush through her fingers, savouring the feel of it and the freedom it represented. Why she had ever let Hawke kill Castion instead of taking his ship she'll never know. Hawke and her could be sailing the open seas, raping and pillaging one another and searching their bed for hidden booty, or something like that.

Far too quickly they arrived at the Gallows, the prison where Kirkwall's mages were held 'for their own safety.' As captain of the late, lamented Siren's Call, the Rivaini had travelled the length and breadth of Thedas seeing many of its wonders, but the Gallows stood apart from all of them, and not in the pleasant gorgeous naked men and women rubbing warm oil all over your body while surrounded by endless chests of treasure way. She had seen that wonder, sadly without the treasure, at the Bacchus Baths in Treviso and the Gallows didn't compare favorably. Unfortunately, at least according to Anders, the only naked souls in the Gallows were those belonging to the mages being oppressed, and the hot oil was used not for pleasure but for persecution.

When the Tevinter Magister's built the Gallows they had designed it specifically to crush the spirit of the slaves who passed within on their way to the quarries. Today the Chantry used it to house the Circle of Magi with similar goals in mind.

The prison's walls towered over you, pressing down upon you and reminding you of your insignificance and the futility of escape. Along the courtyard walls hung grotesque statues of slaves being tortured, their faces frozen in agony and despair.

Now apart from the mage's she knew Isabela was rather indifferent to the plight of mages, but the Gallows, it offended the sensibilities of even her jaded heart.

Isabela tossed the rope to one of the rowers who had already climbed out onto the dock and reached back to collect Bethany's gifts: fresh honey cakes and some fruit from breakfast wrapped in cloth, some racy books that were definitely not in the Circle's library, and finally a beautiful silk scarf that matched the young mage's eyes. She didn't know if Bethany would ever wear the scarf, but as soon as she'd seen it Isabela knew Bethany just had to have it.

The rogue walked through the gates and found Knight-Captain Cullen, informing him who she was here to see before moving off to a faceless templar to have her gifts inspected. When it was finally over she walked a bit away and sat on the stairs, leaned back on her elbows to catch the sun's rays and waited, and waited.

Eventually she caught sight of Bethany approaching warily. No doubt the templars hadn't told her why she was called down to the courtyard, just a brusque 'Follow Me.' _Those Bastards!_

Isabela stood up and moved to where she could be seen.

Bethany's face broke into a warm smile when she saw Isabela. On seeing it the rogue couldn't help but think two things: that a face that pretty should always have a smile on it; and also that Varric had chosen the younger Hawke's nickname particularly well - _Sunshine - _for the girl practically beamed on seeing her.

The young mage stopped a step or two from the pirate, "Isabela, it's so good to see you."

"Come here sweetness," Isabela said as she pulled Bethany into a hug. Damn the templars if they didn't like it.

Isabela collected her gifts, minus two books that the templar confiscated likely to have himself a few wanks, and pulled Bethany along behind her. She was looking for a place still in the warm sun but somewhere they could talk without prying eyes and ears.

"How are you Isabela? How is everyone?" Bethany asked excitedly as soon as both women were seated.

"First things first," Isabela said as she handed over the cloth bundles of food and indicated for her to open them now. The mage's eyes sparkled just like her brother's at seeing the bounty. The only difference was Bethany's eyes were a warm caramel to Hawke's cool blue.

The pirate waved away Bethany's offer of a honey cake. The templars didn't starve their charges, but it was unlikely any mage ever got sweet treats and Isabela wanted Bethany to have them. Besides which, upon seeing the younger Hawke giggle as she mopped up the dripping honey from her chin with her finger there was no way Isabela would enjoy the cake as much.

Neither woman spoke as Bethany ate. Isabela simply watched and laughed along, taking enjoyment at Bethany's pleasure.

When she was finished the younger Hawke sucked the sticky sweetness from her fingers and Isabela handed over a bandanna for her to dry her hands; not the red one she wore on her right bicep, but a spare she kept tucked into the top of her left boot.

"If it's alright with you I think I might save the rest for later," asked Bethany, who received a nod in reply. "Also, if you don't mind I'd like to share with a student of mine, Sabine. She's new to the Circle and hasn't settled in yet."

"Of course, I'm just glad you liked them."

"Yes, I did. Thank you. Now please tell me how everyone's doing and leave nothing out."

"Not just yet, there's more."

Isabela handed over the remaining bundle of books, held together by a leather strap, laughing as the young mage blushed. Finally, she passed over a box containing the scarf.

"It's beautiful," Bethany said upon opening it, "but I can't wear this. The templars will say it's _not a Circle approved garment._" Her voice deepened as she adopted the serious tone a templar always used.

"Wear it for me," Isabela insisted, and then moved to tie the scarf around the mage's delicate neck. "Absolutely stunning," she said, meaning it. The pirate took a small mirror out from a pocket on her right boot and passed it over so the younger Hawke could see for herself.

Bethany's face lit up at seeing her reflection, making the gift worthwhile for the rogue if it is was never worn again.

With the gift-giving done the pair was free to talk. Over the course of the next few hours the two women filled each other in on the events of their lives and those around them. Isabela shared tales of the group's latest exploits and their comings and goings. The young mage listened eagerly, and even though Isabela had a rogue's keen eye for details and told a story well Bethany pressed her for more. Isabela held little back, only omitting the particularly gory bits or those that would cause her to worry; the youngest Hawke never had a taste for battle. For her part Bethany shared tales of the young apprentices she taught and filled Isabela in on the deteriorating situation in the Gallows. Like the rogue, she too held back the worst details and for similar reasons.

At hearing how bad the Circle had become Isabela has tempted to break Bethany out today, despite the fact she knew the mage wouldn't follow. The rogue could tell from her voice that even under these circumstances Bethany had found a certain measure of peace and acceptance here. It was easy to see that she loved teaching the young mages and genuinely cared for them. It was sad really but in a perverse way Bethany seemed happier here locked up in the Gallows than free as an apostate. And no doubt just like her brother had done with their group of companions, Bethany would have taken some of the mages under her wing and assumed the responsibility to shelter and protect them.

Bethany cast one of her brightest smiles, as if trying to dispel the dreariness of the subject matter.

'_She is so good. So kind and gentle,'_ Isabela thought to herself about her companion. She made a silent vow to kill anyone who ever dared seek to harm Bethany.

A silence fell over the pair. It was not awkward, just one of those comfortable silences that often occurred between friends. The pirate looked up and judged by the position of the sun that it was well past midday. They had been talking for far longer than she had thought.

Bethany cleared her throat, bringing Isabela back down to face her.

"Aveline was here the other day. She tells me that you've been spending a lot of time at my brother's house lately."

Despite the fact that she was the younger sister and saw Garrett far less than either wished, Bethany couldn't help being protective of her brother. He might claim otherwise but she knew how much it had pained him when Isabela had fled Kirkwall and she did not want to see Garrett hurt again.

"Hrmph," Isabela grunted, eager to switch subjects. "As I've explained to the others _more than once_, it's just easier than walking back to the Hanged Man in the middle of the night - that's all! You know how many gangs there are in this city; all of them eager to take advantage of a helpless lady walking alone in the dark. I wouldn't be safe. Besides Lady Man-hands is one to talk. Do you want to hear the weird, kinky things she's been up to?"

She paused for a moment for dramatic effect.

"Tea Parties! Can you imagine those gigantic clubs Aveline calls hands holding a cup of tea like some dainty Orlesian lady?" The pirate mimicked holding a cup of tea with her pinky finger sticking straight out as she leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "I've even heard she bakes fancy sweet-cakes and scones. Scones!" Isabela shivered with revulsion. "How sick is that?"

The two shared a laugh and thankfully Bethany did not continue her line of questioning.

"I've missed you so," Bethany said as she leaned over and nudged the pirate with her shoulder.

"We all miss you too. Especially Hawke, when I told him I was coming for a visit he wanted to come too, but you know…"

Bethany did know. The dynamic between her brother and Knight-Commander Meredith had gone far beyond antagonistic and it was wonder that the two hadn't yet come to blows.

While for the most part Bethany was happier and more fulfilled in the Circle teaching the young ones how to control their magic she was not entirely without regrets. She knew that Garrett fought for what was right and decent, but she did not miss the battles that were such a large part of his life. Teaching seemed to suit her far better than adventuring ever did. She did miss her brother terribly and wished that they could see one another more often. For all intents and purposes Garrett was the last of her family and not being able to talk or even write to him was like a cut that would not heal. Most of all Bethany regretted that Garrett felt he had failed her even though she had willingly chosen to submit herself to the Templars and the Circle. Unfortunately that choice had also resulted in the templars using her as a pawn in an attempt to control her brother now that he was Champion of Kirkwall and gaining in political power and influence. Part of the reason she had submitted to the Circle was to spare Garrett and their mother from the templar's wrath when they eventually found her and in that she had failed miserably.

To her face the Knight-Commander and her templars did not outright threaten her with beatings or worse tranquility, perhaps fearing Garrett's reaction. During the Qunari uprising neither the Kirkwall City Guard nor the templars had fared particularity well against the giant invaders and their losses had been heavy. Yet Garrett and his companions had done exceptionally well against the Qunari. They had cut a wide swath through the grey skinned attackers until they had reached their leader, the Arishok, in the Viscount's Keep where he had held the city's elite hostage.

The Arishok was an opponent born of nightmares, and easily one of the largest and strongest things Bethany had ever seen outside of the ogre that had killed their brother Carver, but Garrett defeated him in single armed combat. Garrett had saved Kirkwall before much of the surviving nobility and upper ranks of the templars. He had done alone what Meredith and the combined forces of the templars and the city guard had failed to do. Such actions would give any sane templar pause even if they didn't also suspect that Garrett would tear the Gallows down around them if any harm came to her.

Instead of outright threats, now, seemingly based on the Knight Commander's whims, she alternated between extra privileges and restrictions beyond those granted or imposed on the other mages housed in the Circle. She was now able to have visitors, although her brother was rarely among them. Meredith made Garrett submit written requests to visit her well in advance and somehow those requests always seemed to be denied or go missing. That is unless, of course, her brother did something that pleased the templars. Likewise, on those few letters of Garrett's that she did actually receive the seal was always broken and the Knight-Commander would let slip some snide remark to let Bethany know that she had read her letters without any regard to her privacy. And on those rare occasions when Garrett had finally been allowed to visit, the templars stripped him of all armour and weapons and never less than four of the largest, meanest, heavily armed templars scowled over them like her family's namesake, the hawk. Even still, Garrett's first question to her, equal parts concern for her well-being and a warning to those watching, was always 'How are the templars treating you?'

Bethany looked around the courtyard, taking note of the fewer mages and templars about. She too looked up to sun to get an idea of the time. It was getting late.

"Not that I don't appreciate seeing you Isabela but I get a sense there's another reason for your visit."

A joke about reading minds and blood magic was on the tip of her tongue however Isabela stifled it. No matter how funny it was this was hardly the place for it.

"Clever girl. I was hoping you could take a look at me. I've been feeling a bit out of sorts lately and thought I'd come here and kill two birds with one stone."

"Why wouldn't you go to Anders? He's a far better healer than I am."

"Don't sell yourself short sweetness. Besides you know how he is and it's getting worse."

"Alright, but you must understand I can only a take a quick look; just enough to see if something is wrong and if so you'll need to see someone else," Bethany apologized. "The templars would skin me alive if I did anything more."

Isabela nodded her understanding and thanks before closing her eyes. A few moments later she began to feel the magic surround and then slowly seep inside her. Bethany's magic was like a warm, gentle touch or a soft exhale on her skin that raised pleasant goose bumps in its wake. Whereas Anders' magic was colder, somehow harsher and impersonal. Isabela didn't know enough about magic to explain the difference, but of the two she easily preferred Bethany's.

Just as quickly the magic began to recede, and with a last tender caress it was gone.

Isabela opened her eyes to see Bethany looking like she'd been struck dumb. "What?"

It was a few tense moments before the mage answered.

"Isabela," Bethany said in a bewildered voice. "You're pregnant!"

"What!" Isabela exclaimed in disbelief. "How?"

"I shouldn't think that I'd have to explain it to you."

"Not that you silly goose," Isabela answered, remembering who she was speaking to. It seemed foolish but she tried her best not to curse around Bethany. "I mean…I'm always so careful."

"Is Garrett the father?" Bethany asked hesitantly.

"Of course it's Hawke's," Isabela said heatedly before lowering her voice. "There hasn't been anyone else in yea…in some time." The pirate caught herself before letting the truth slip, but she was certain that Bethany had heard. One problem with a reputation, especially one such as hers, was that no one believed you when you didn't live up to it.

Isabela's reputation - all of it - as a pirate, thief, cutthroat, and brigand was well earned. So too were the tales of the men and women she'd bedded and the whores she'd frequented. All of them taken and discarded once she'd slaked her thirst without regard for anything other than her own carnal pleasure. She was a creature all too often ruled by her appetites and as many could attest her appetites were immense. Except in Hawke her appetite had found its match, with him there was no need for anyone else.

After the battle with the Qunari when she had fled Kirkwall, Isabela had thought to drive the memory of everything Hawke - his eyes, the tickle of his beard on her skin, his soothing, deep voice, his strong hands, and even his scent - from her mind. Seeking no attachments she had whored her way to the ends of the Waking Sea and up to Rialto Bay, to Antiva and her homeland of Rivain. Yet far from numbing her memory every encounter merely reminded Isabela how empty and shallow her life had become. She had fought it with all her might, trying everything from drowning herself in her cups to even abstaining from sex (not that many would believe that) before finally deciding to return to Kirkwall to see if anything with Hawke could be salvaged.

The truth was that when Isabela had returned to Kirkwall she had been as celibate as a Reverend Mother for nearly eight months. It was a further six lonely months of halting conversations and cautious innuendos before Hawke had followed her up to her room at the Hanged Man. She had been living on pins and needles then: too afraid to tell Hawke how she felt and too wary of doing something stupid and ruining any chance with Hawke to seek outside relief.

That first night together (or their second first night if you prefer) had been electric and just what she needed - both mentally and physically. They had ravaged each other as if they were the only two people in Thedas. The Hanged Man could have burned down around them and neither of them would have noticed. They had been so focused upon each other. Once they were finished Isabela had even commented that she was surprised that they hadn't started a fire as a fuse had surely been lit when her door had closed and Hawke had thrown her onto her bed. They had both been so hot and needy; neither willing to stop until each had nothing more to give - it had been incredible.

Since then hardly a day passed where they didn't have sex, but Isabela was no whet virgin. She knew how and did take steps to prevent this.

"You're certain?" Isabela asked still in disbelief. Bethany answered in the affirmative. "Check again," she ordered in her captain's voice. A voice used to command and that brooked no argument.

Once again the pirate felt the gentle touch of Bethany's magic except this time the sensation was stronger and Isabela felt it probing deeper, toward her core.

A small part of Isabela hoped that the templars wouldn't notice Bethany's use of magic and punish her for it, but another, larger, part of her didn't care so long as Bethany found out the truth - _that there was no possible way she could be pregnant_.

Bethany stretched her senses out toward the woman before her, unsure of her feelings. She had heard the insistence in Isabela's voice and the unintended slip that left no doubt who the father was. Despite her reputation Isabela had never once lied to her. Stretched the truth certainly, 'forgotten' to mention something often, but never had Isabela told her an outright lie.

While her brother had always been something of a rogue with the ladies, Garrett was a faithful rogue while he was with them. Of his admirers, no other woman, common bred maid or titled lady, had ever lasted as long as Isabela and by her own admission the pirate had been just as faithful. Whether the two admitted it or not, the pair had long ago become serious and now there was a pregnancy.

It seemed strange to think of Garrett as a father. Oh, there was no doubt that he would be a good one. He was so devoted to his family and friends not to think that the babe would quickly rule his heart. It was just that Mother had been pressuring Garrett for so long to find a nice woman to wed and begin a family, long before they had fled Lothering and especially once Garrett had returned from the Deep Roads wealthy. Bethany tried to think of what their mother's reaction would have been - happiness at another Hawke or disappointment that it was with Isabela? Maybe the latter at first. Mother had had such big dreams, but she was still the same woman who renounced wealth and titles for love and Leandra would have loved the child like no one else. Sadly Mother had been so cruelly taken from them and would never get a chance to see or hold any grandchild.

As strange as it was to think of her brother as someone's father, the idea of Isabela as a mother was stranger still. At first blush the pirate was not anyone's ideal vision of motherhood. Yet upon thinking on it, Bethany decided that the pirate did have it in her: she was strong, brave, smart, and in her own way just as fiercely devoted as Garrett. Also, while she might bitch and moan about it, Isabela could always be counted on to do the right thing when it mattered most. She proved that when she had returned with the Tome of Koslun. As far as a mother's qualities went there were worse things than those to build a foundation on. Perhaps most importantly though, Isabela loved Garrett and he loved her even if neither was brave enough to say it. As far as Bethany could see the biggest problem was getting Isabela to believe that she would make a fine mother.

But the two lived such dangerous lives. Was it right to bring a child into the world when one or even both parents could be struck down on any given day. And yet by that way of thinking Bethany would never have been born, nor Carver or even Garrett. Mother and Father had lived no less a dangerous life on the run from the templars and still they had found time for love, to raise children, and despite the danger their family had been happy.

Could not the same hold true for Garrett and Isabela?

'_There,'_ Bethany thought as she once again felt the spark of life growing inside Isabela. It was strong, wondrous, and ethereally beautiful. The first time she had felt its essence she had been too shocked to take much notice, but now she drank it in. She didn't have the words to properly describe the feelings and sensations she had, yet Bethany knew she would carry them with her forever.

The touch of magic receded and Isabela watched Bethany's face expectantly. '_Shit, Bugger, Fuck,'_ she thought, not needing the mage to speak the words so clearly written upon her face.

Isabela stood and began to pace.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! …this is impossible…I can't be pregnant…I can't be someone's mother…Shit! …Shit! …Shit! …I took precautions…everything I've done a million times before…Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! …What about Hawke?… would he even want…with me…"

Bethany watched Isabela as she paced, complete with stopping to stomp her feet when she broke her ramblings to curse. Isabela reminded her of some of the new children in the Circle, not yet used to the restrictions of their life now and raging against it, or perhaps a frightened doe was a better analogy. A doe ready to bolt at the first hint of trouble.

Whatever she was, Isabela was someone who needed a friend and so Bethany stood and wrapped the rogue up in her arms, giving her whatever support she needed. She held the rogue, swaying slightly from side to side, as the curses gradually turned to silence.

Gently Bethany guided the rogue to sit down, and then knelt down across from her. She took up the pirate's hands which were now cold and clammy.

Bethany was unsure of what to say or do. It seemed wrong to apologize for something many would consider a blessing and yet congratulations seemed just as inappropriate.

'_Why did I have Hawke's bloody sister check me,'_ Isabela thought. '_Of course she would tell him, they're family. I can't even-'_

The pirate looked up, meeting Bethany's eyes and with a crazed look of desperation on her face and in her voice.

"You can't tell Hawke," Isabela pleaded. "Promise me Bethany that you'll say nothing. Swear it." A Hawke's word once given could be counted on as surely as the sun rising each morning.

"So you've decided then." It seemed obvious to her that she would not be becoming an aunt. Try as she might Bethany couldn't help the icy tone in her voice or looking disappointed.

"Yes," the rogue answered quickly.

"No."

"I don't know."

"_**Balls.**_"

"I swear to you that I won't tell Garrett." said Bethany. "That is something he should only hear from you. But he _does_ deserve to know Isabela, whatever you ultimately decide."

Relieved, Isabela took a deep breath and quickly said goodbye. She had to get out of here. The monstrous statues mocked her and the tall stone walls of the Gallows loomed over her like mountains, threatening to close off her world.

She felt like a ship in the middle of a typhoon, tossed and turned, and thrown about with no control whatsoever. It was a long forgotten sensation and one, after the death of her husband, Isabela swore she'd never feel again.

The pirate had taken maybe ten steps when Bethany called out to her.

"Whether you can see it in yourself Isabela, you've changed. We've all changed over the years, and not all change need be a bad thing."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

Isabela walked the streets of Kirkwall without rhyme or reason, completely lost in thought. Although now back on solid land she still felt like she was on a sinking ship, desperately trying to find some piece of flotsam to grab onto for dear life so she wouldn't be sucked under and drown.

She didn't know what to do. Scratch that, she did know what to do, but how would Hawke react if he ever found out. Despite what Bethany thought Isabela wasn't sure she should ever tell him. Did she even want to tell him, it was her body after all? And if she did tell Hawke, would he be relieved if she followed through on her intended course or would he hate her for it? Could she risk it either way?

Bethany could be trusted to keep her word, but Isabela could tell what the mage thought she should do. Would Bethany hate her if motherhood and a lasting commitment to Hawke just wasn't for her? Family meant so much to the Hawkes and so very little to her.

What about Hawke? Things with him now were good, no better than good, and that could all be stripped away if she told him - everything would change in an instant. A child would complicate things and she preferred a life free of complications; to go wherever the winds and the currents carried her. If she had a child then what was she going to do: fight bandits with a babe suckling on her tit, or else stay at home and be _Lady Hawke_ and host fancy dinner parties while complaining to anyone who'd listen about the most pretentious of things. Furthermore, if she was having his child Hawke would want to marry her, he was too damn honourable not to, but Isabela had already tried that once and marriage just wasn't for her. She would be trapped with Hawke and a little Hawke, and with all due respect to Zevran, she doubted the elf could best Hawke if their marriage turned into the epic disaster she knew it would be.

She could run, flee Kirkwall and never look back - except she had already tried that once and look how great that turned out.

_**What the fuck was she going to do?**_

In a daze she continued walking before eventually finding herself in Lowtown's marketplace. She silently cursed Andraste, the Maker, the spirits of her homeland, and just for good measure the Dalish Gods and Dwarven Paragons too as she had stopped right in front of Elegant's stall of potions and herbs which held everything she would need.

And the blasted woman was calling her over.

Were the universe and the gods themselves telling her that she wasn't fit to be a mother or was she just seeing signs to make her decision palatable?

"Isabela, how good to see you again. I haven't seen you or _Hawke_ around in ages."

'_And right there is the reason why bitch,' _thought the rogue. Isabela didn't like how Elegant flirted with Hawke: the way she always put special emphasis on his name, giggling and twirling her cherry blonde hair when they spoke, and always looking for any excuse to touch him. Elegant was supposed to be a married woman and Hawke, he was hers.

She had once thought to ask Hawke if he had history with Elegant before ultimately deciding that a discussion of past lovers was a door that didn't need opening. Instead Isabela had decided to hate the prissy bitch on general principles.

"Please tell me he hasn't been buying his potions from someone else."

After assuring the self-important wench that Hawke had not found another supplier Isabela purchased only a few of the herbs she would need. She didn't trust Elegant to keep her big, fat mouth shut, and knew the potion maker was smart enough to deduce her intentions if told a few specific ingredients. She visited two more herb women to pick up the rest of what she required before deciding to call it a day.

While she had not made a final decision, Isabela was strongly leaning in one direction and possessing the herbs required to end her pregnancy was merely good preparation for when she was certain. She was less sure about whether or not to tell Hawke. Concern over his reaction was the biggest factor in staying her hand.

With so much unsettled Isabela couldn't return to Hawke's house. Instead she decided to return to the Hanged Man, order dinner and retire early to think some more.

...

Isabela opened the door to the Hanged Man and was instantly greeted with the deep, rich, booming laugh of one Garrett Hawke. Even when she was trying her best to avoid him somehow he still managed to plague her. Here he was laughing and carrying on without a care in the world while her world was crumbling.

'_It's all his fault,'_ she thought.

Isabela approached their table, ignoring their greetings.

_One…_

_Two…_

_Three…_

Like a piston three times her arm drew back before coming forward, striking Hawke square in the face each time.

_Crack…_

Went the chair underneath Hawke.

_**Crash!**_

The chair broke, dropping Hawke to the floor in a tangle of limbs and broken wood. The chair breaking beneath him was the only thing that saved Hawke from another punch as the fourth sailed just over his head.

Satisfied, Isabela turned away from Hawke and stomped toward the exit. The Hanged Man was absolutely silent, probably for the first time in its history.

"Who's going to pay for my chair?" Corff yelled out, breaking the spell and freeing people to talk.

"He can!" Isabela yelled back, gesturing behind her to a stunned Hawke. "He's the asshole who broke it."

And with that she was gone into the cool night air.

"What did you do Hawke?" Varric asked.

Rising back to his feet after wiping a hand across his face and it coming back bloody Hawke answered, "Damned if I know."

The dwarf looked at a bloody and confused Hawke: his mouth and nose were both bleeding profusely with the later probably broken, and already his left eye was beginning to swell shut in what would be a nice shiner.

"Whatever it is I'm glad I'm not you. I've never seen Rivaini so pissed." Varric then added unnecessarily, "You should probably see Blondie. Your face is a mess."

It went unsaid that it would also give the fierce pirate time to calm down.

* * *

_A short chapter, but what else are you going to do? You break the story up where it makes the most sense._

_Thanks to everyone for reading and those who have placed this story on alert or added it to their favourites. A special thanks to my reviewers: FictionShadow, Paragon of Awesomeness, and D-Ro2593._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

"Should have stayed at the Hanged Man," Isabela muttered under her breath to no one in particular. "Why should I have to leave my home for some jumped up prick."

She stormed through the dark streets of Lowtown without any destination in mind. The normally observant rogue never noticed the way Lowtown's night denizens quickly cleared from her path or the way those lurking in the shadows seeking the unsuspecting shrank back upon seeing her, deciding the lone woman was too much bother and that easier marks would surely follow.

A salty breeze kicked up and Isabela walked into it, knowing that at the docks she could find a place to be alone, where no one, especially Hawke, would find her or else she'd find some grabby sailor to beat the shit out of - either one was fine with her in her present mood.

To the water's edge she went, drinking in the scents, sounds, and taste of the air, and allowing them to wash over and soothe her. She sat down and removed her long boots, letting her feet dangle in the cool water as she watched the full moon's reflection ripple in the water.

'_The Egg Moon, that's what mother called it.'_

Isabela had no idea where that memory came from. It had been years since since she'd last thought of the hag who sold her for a goat and some coin. Even longer still since Isabela had remembered any of that worthless crap she had been forced to learn - names of ancient Rivaini gods long forgotten; blends of herbs, dried flowers, and incense to create different smells and coloured smoke or that ignited with a blinding spark; supposedly mystical symbols and chants of power; and even different names for the moon than commonly used - all necessary since one can't pass themselves off as a seer and the coins wouldn't flow without uttering complete bullshit and providing a little excitement and mystery. If only those fools had known that her mother had been completely full of shit. Even her tinctures were just dirty wash water mixed with some mint or other leaves for flavour and something else to give it some colour. If any had ever worked her mother would have been the most surprised one of all.

She reached up to touch the fertility talisman, an item commonly sold by both real and false hedge-witches and seers in Rivain, at her neck and then unclasped the thick gold chain it hung from. She held the talisman out in front of her.

"I guessed you worked, you blighted thing."

It was tempting to toss the talisman in the water, but it had been a gift from Hawke and there were some good memories attached to it.

Isabela still remembered the day he surprised her with it as if it was yesterday. He had said the merchant told him that is was from her homeland and so he had purchased for her to remind her of Rivain. Hawke had given it to her, appearing completely clueless as to the connotations of the flower's petals and the intimate part of a woman they represented. She had grown frustrated explaining it to him. '_I don't see it - it's just a flower,' _he had repeatedly said. Finally in exasperation she had just pointed to her crotch and yelled '_It looks like this Right Here!'_ prompting Hawke to pick her up over his shoulder and say '_I'll have to check on that'_ as he carried her up to her room. He had then spent hours meticulously and thoroughly comparing the two until she had been a quivering, formless mass of flesh. It had been such sweet delicious torture, Hawke's tongue crueler yet far more pleasurable than any whip as he pushed her higher and higher. She had literally cried tears of relief when Hawke finally threw her legs over his shoulders and buried his rampant cock inside her. Even now the memory of that night was enough to get her excited. '_Ah,_ _sweet memories.'_

Instead of throwing it away she put the chain back on, making sure the talisman laid flat right in the centre of her neck.

Once again Isabela looked out at the water. Everything was better out there - simpler. She made an impulsive decision.

Quickly the rogue put her boots back on and began walking the piers looking for a ship, a boat, or even a raft that she could take, even for just the night.

First there was a simple oak cog, except just as Isabela was about to board she saw a crewman lying on the deck and so she decided to press on and continue her search. She paused at a beautiful three-masted Antivan caravel that called out sweetly to her. Visions of standing at the wheel with the wind whipping through her hair and the salt spray on her skin filled her. As fine a ship as the Siren's Call had been it didn't have the speed that her sure hand could coax from this beauty.

"Oi honey, wanna come on board for a ride!" called a crewman from the caravel, urged on by his shipmates.

The lecherous stares and hollers of the sailors left little doubt as to the type of ride offered.

Isabela had come to the docks spoiling for a fight, but now that one had been so thoughtfully offered the rogue couldn't be bothered. She turned to leave.

"Stupid whore must be deaf."

"Don't need ears for what I want, just a warm cunny," another said to laughter.

"Get up here ya daft bitch!"

The rogue had half a mind to feed the lecher his balls as a lesson on how not to speak to a lady. Of course it would lead to the others joining in and while eventually she would have her ship there would be no one left to crew it. As much as she might wish otherwise the caravel wouldn't do - _tonight_.

Isabela continued her search, walking the length of the harbour to the shitty part where the piers were half rotten and the vessels not much better. She would likely have her pick here for the simple fact that none were worth stealing.

There was a small voitas that she could just barely handle alone, but on closer inspection there was ankle-deep water on the deck and Isabela didn't fancy drowning or getting her boots wet.

Eventually she settled on a simple rowboat with patched fishing nets in the bow and whose paint was flaked and peeling off but was otherwise sound enough.

Isabela rowed away from the docks, letting her mind empty and simply enjoy the sights and smells. She rowed until the night time bustle of the docks could no longer be heard, until it was just her on the water alone.

She lay down on the fishing nets, closed her eyes and just listened to the gentle lapping of the waves. It was not long before she was carried off to sleep.

…

Isabela woke and it took a moment to determine that she was in Hawke's house, it was dark like after everyone had gone to bed. The last she remembered she had been out on the water, but here she was, there was no doubt. There was the desk where any correspondence was kept waiting for Hawke's attention. Beside it was the chest where he kept a few of the weapons and loot he'd accumulated over years of adventuring. Hawke had the best luck she'd ever seen for acquiring things. Although, on second thought, the fact that so many seemed set upon killing him might explain his talent better than luck.

His mabari Dane was laid out before the hearth in his favourite place, enjoying the warmth from the dying embers that softly lit the room. As if sensing her attention Dane raised his massive head and looked at Isabela, so she stepped over to him and scratched him behind the ears which she knew he liked.

She debated leaving since she was avoiding Hawke, but as strange as it seemed Isabela felt a gentle pull toward the bedroom, and for once it was not from her loins.

Quietly, so as not wake anyone who might be sleeping, Isabela climbed the stairs, feeling her crude carving in the railing underneath her hand. She had done it as a lark, something to give the place some character and a lived in feel. When he bought the Amell Estate back Hawke had been so intent on restoring it to his mother's memory that even with the fine furniture and rich fabrics it had felt more like a mausoleum than a home. There had been so little of Hawke in it outside his bedroom. Hawke was witty, dashing, at times crude and at other times he spoke with a golden tongue that could charm a dragon out of its hoard or his way into a Rivaini pirate's bed, but above all else Hawke was gloriously alive. Isabela had carved the crude representation of her breasts into the handrail to remind him of that. Or maybe she had done it just for shits and giggles; people were more apt to believe that than any deeper meaning.

The door to Hawke's room was ajar and through the crack she saw the wavering light of a fire and she heard - singing?

Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor  
Duérmete pedazo de mi corazón,  
que tengo que hacer,  
lavar tus pañales sentarme a coser  
Ese niño quiere que lo duerma yo,  
dormir en mis brazos y en mi corazón.

Isabela recognized the song, Sleep My Child. It was a Rivaini lullaby, but why was someone in Hawke's bedroom singing it.

The rogue was frozen in place between equal parts curiosity and fear over what she'd find in the room. It took a supreme effort of will to finally force herself forward.

Hawke's bedroom was nearly the same as the one she knew so well. The lone difference was the wingback chair that normally sat at the small desk was instead facing the fireplace, its back to her. It was from that chair the singing came.

Slowly Isabela crept further into the room. Her heart was beating faster than a horse in a lather, and then it stopped entirely when she saw _herself._

It made no sense, and yet there she was sitting in the chair gently rocking a linen wrapped bundle in her arms as she sung. The Isabela in the chair had a look of absolute happiness and contentment upon her face that had never once graced her own.

Isabela crept closer and things got stranger still. The linen wrapped bundle was Hawke who was presently suckling on the not-her's breast.

Now she knew that Hawke enjoyed worrying her tits, she rather enjoyed it too, but this? Had Hawke ever expressed a desire for her to treat and feed him like a baby then that would be it. She had done a lot of kinky things before in her life but a girl's got to have some limits and that right there was several paces beyond hers.

A shadow passed across her and Isabela turned and did a double take as a second Hawke entered the room. He was bare chested, showing off the cords of muscle in his arms and his trim chest with just enough hair for her to run her fingers through, but not so much as to be a turn-off. On the bottom he was dressed in a pair of loose fitting linen pants worn low enough on the hips to turn thoughts instantly to what lay just underneath. He took a step closer and paused to watch the false Isabela nurse the bundle in her arms. Firelight danced in eyes full of life and his mouth was formed in a knowing grin that she had seen often, usually when he had just been proven right. This was the Hawke she knew, not the strange Hawke in not-her's arms.

Hawke knelt down on the floor beside not-her and held out a glass of water that the false Isabela drank and handed back.

"How is Malcolm doing," Hawke asked the doppelganger.

"He's a hungry one, just like his father."

Hawke reached out and gently touched the child. Malcolm, Isabela assumed.

"He's beautiful Bela. He's got your eyes."

"And your nose."

"Your cheeks."

"Your lips."

"He cries like you."

"Well he's got your beard."

"True enough, we Hawkes are known for our majestic beards. Did I ever tell you about my father's beard? Now that was a beard worthy of song. It was a thing of such beauty that my mother never stood a chance upon seeing him. It was love at first sight."

"I know the feeling," not-her said before leaning over for a lingering kiss.

"I think he's asleep now," the false Isabela said softly after their kiss ended.

Isabela watched as the pair gently placed the bearded child in a crib beside the bed that she had failed to notice before. Next they climbed into bed themselves. The last thing she heard was the pair softly whisper to each other - _I love you._

…

The world felt like it was shaking beneath her, startling Isabela into opening her eyes. She couldn't breathe. She was gasping for air and her heart was beating right out of her chest and Isabela wondered whether she was dying.

Desperately she tried to slow her breathing, to calm herself. It would also still the rocking of the small rowboat she once again found herself in, which was churning as though caught in the middle of a storm.

It took some time, but finally her body submitted to her will and the boat began its familiar calm rolling with the waves.

Now settled, Isabela began to think about the dream she had just awakened from.

Except Isabela was not absolutely certain that it had been a dream, everything had felt so real. She had felt the fire's warmth on her skin. The feel of Dane's fur, the sound of his breathing, and even the touch his tongue as he licked her hand in appreciation for the ear rub - all of that had seemed real. The polished wood railing, smooth except for her carving, had been real. Even the scents had been real: the faint traces of the oil Hawke used on his armour and weapons, the rich aroma of the black cherry wood burning in the fireplace, and the sweet smell of hyacinths in the window at the top of the stairs that reminded Hawke of his mother.

It had all been real; Isabela would stake her life on it.

Yet, how could it be real and not a dream? She had seen herself. If it was real then how could there be two of her.

But, even the false Isabela had felt real. There was a substance to her that was different, somehow greater and more present, than any other dream she had ever known. It was the same for Hawke and the strange Hawke-baby Malcolm. Isabela felt that if she had only reached out she could have touched them as she had Dane. She had held back only because of the strangeness of seeing them and the voyeuristic fear of being caught.

About the only thing that gave credence to it being a dream or some crazed hallucination was the beard and adult features on the baby, her baby. Since she could only assume Malcolm was her and Hawke's baby that was growing inside her. Without conscious thought she reached down and placed a hand over her womb, as if she could feel Malcolm within.

Accepting that it had been a dream, Isabela began to consider its meaning. In her travels she had met many who believed that any remembered dream held a deeper meaning. Mages even claimed to be awake when the dreamt and entered the Fade, but Isabela had no experience with that. Her past dreams were easily understood: chests of riches without end and years ago she had dreamt of the death of her husband, many times and in many different ways.

Never before had Isabela dreamt of Hawke. She had fallen asleep with an image of him in her mind and his name on her lips, but as far she knew nothing more until now.

Never before had a dream ever left her in this state, exhausted, shaken, and questioning. For the first time she had dreamt of a life she had never before considered: a real future with Hawke and their son. Even when she had been young, stupid, and married Isabela had never dreamed of a child of her own. The only future she had sought was a free one.

Even when she had made the decision to return to Kirkwall and Hawke, Isabela had never given much thought to the future beyond being with Hawke for however long it lasted. An ending was assumed.

But now with Hawke's child growing inside her did she want that dreamed of future? Would she want that future even if there was no child?

_YES._

Yes, she wanted it all. She wanted to feel the contentment and love that the false-Isabela had. She wanted to wake each morning and Hawke be the first thing she saw and the last thing each night. And yes, she wanted to give Hawke a son.

Isabela grabbed for the pouch at her waist containing the herbs she had purchased that afternoon and dumped its contents into the sea.

* * *

_A/N: As mentioned the lullaby Isabela sings is called 'Sleep my Child' and the English lyrics follow. Unfortunately I couldn't find who actually wrote it so if someone does know please send me a pm so that I might give proper credit where it is due - thanks._

_Sleep my child, sleep my love,_

_Sleep, piece of my heart,_

_For I have things to do,_

_To wash your nappies, sit down to sew…_

_This child wants me to lull him,_

_To sleep in my arms and on my heart._

* * *

_I would like to thank my reviewers: spectre4hire and an anonymous person who though nameless is not unappreciated._

_If you too would like to see your screen name in neon lights, or at least at the bottom of the next chapter, then all you have to do is leave a review. Seriously though, I have been overwhelmed by the positive response that I've received for this story especially considering the subject matter. Having said that as a man who thankfully has never had to contribute to a decision regarding an unplanned pregnancy I do find it hard to hard to write a female perspective and then shade it to suit Isabela, so any comments, criticisms, or suggestions are greatly appreciated and welcome. Feel free to message me if you don't want to leave a leave any comments in a review._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

**Squawk**

The grating noise of a seagull woke Isabela. She opened her eyes to see three gulls standing on the tiny boat's rail watching her.

Isabela kicked at the foul birds, sending them scampering off. Normally a gull was a welcome sight to a sailor as they meant land was close, but not today. Today the gulls merely forced her to wake after far too little sleep. She was exhausted.

With the assuredness of years spent at sea Isabela stood and stretched as best she could, working out the knots. Sleeping on fishing nets in a small rowboat was not the most comfortable, or the smelliest, bed she'd ever slept on, but it was far from the worst.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding the pirate that she hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday with Hawke.

_Hawke_

Frantically Isabela searched the boat for her pouch containing the herbs required to abort: hellebore, rue, and 'the whore's root' worm fern to name a few. Finding it empty she took a moment to try and remember where it had gone.

In the harsh light of the day it all came back to her: the dream of her singing lullabies to a little baby Hawke and then waking in a lather only to dump out the herbs.

"What have I done?" she asked herself, filled with doubt and regret.

Isabela had once told Aveline that other's opinions of her didn't matter since she knew herself. It was true when she had said it, when she had been Captain Isabela of the Siren's Call, Queen of the Eastern Seas. Except now she wasn't sure who she was. Was she still Captain Isabela who would have already damn well done what needed doing or was she the Isabela from last night, crying over a child she had never wanted and foolishly chasing after a dream that couldn't possibly come true?

In her present state of mental turmoil all of Isabela's fears and insecurities that she had buried, avoided, or simply ignored bludgeoned their way to prominence in her mind.

"Who am I to think that I'm fit to be a mother? I'm a pirate, a thief, and little more than a whore."

"And Hawke, he's the bloody Champion of Kirkwall. A man of respect who could have anyone he wanted. He deserves better than me."

It was one thing for him to fuck her until someone better came along, quite another to have a child with her. To some she was still the reason the Qunari had raped and pillaged Kirkwall - she had heard the dark whispers from those who had lost loved ones and felt their harsh stares.

Furthermore, as someone who fiercely valued her freedom the last thing Isabela wanted was to force Hawke into a future with her and that was exactly what a child do. A child would bind them tightly together while limiting their options, imprisoning them to a life neither had chosen.

They were amazing in bed together, but was that enough to build a life together? She knew he cared for her, maybe even loved her, but he had never once spoken the words. Was it because he knew she couldn't bear to hear them or was it something else? As her companions reminded her tirelessly when she returned to Kirkwall, she had wounded Hawke deeply when she had fled. He didn't seem the type but could Hawke be planning on cutting her just as badly - getting her to care for him before casting her aside in a masterful bit of revenge for a wound that wouldn't heal. No, whatever else Hawke may be he was not unnecessarily cruel or sadistic, but did he still care for her as deeply as he once did. Could he after she had abandoned him.

There were times when she felt with every fibre of her being that Hawke still cared and further that he wanted more from her, but could she give it to him.

She searched her soul and the honest answer was that she truly didn't know.

…

"I might have known," Aveline yelled at seeing Isabela rowing the missing boat back to its berth.

The guard captain scowled as the rogue nimbly jumped out onto the dock and tied the boat off seemingly without a care.

"Isabela you've stolen that boat."

"How can it be stolen when it's right there Aveline," answered Isabela, matching the guard-captain's gruff tone. "If anything I borrowed it."

"It can be stolen because you didn't ask that man for his permission and he reported it so," she pointed to the owner standing silently nearby as though he was just the latest exhibit in a long running argument between the two women. "It can be stolen because you've cost that man his day's catch."

Isabela reached into her coin purse and withdrew a gold sovereign, holding it up for Aveline to see before tossing it to the boat's owner who smiled eagerly as he caught it. With such a small boat the coin likely bettered a good day's catch and there was still plenty of time for him to go out.

"Happy now?" the rogue asked as she began to walk away.

"Isabela wait," Aveline ordered and moved to block her path. "Are you alright?"

"Don't tell me you've gone soft?"

"Of course not, it's just that you gave that man a coin far easier than I would have expected." She added hesitantly," And, well, I heard about you and Hawke last night."

"What about me and Hawke?" Isabela asked testily.

"Isabela, it's hardly a secret. You broke his nose in the middle of the Hanged Man and he's been scouring the city for you ever since."

The rogue looked about as though fearful that Hawke would suddenly come upon her. A gesture Aveline did not fail to notice even if she didn't understand as for some unknown reason Hawke cared for this woman.

"Again I ask, are you alright?"

"You know me Aveline, I'm always alright."

The guard-captain had been lied to enough times over the years not to recognize the signs. She was friendly enough with the rogue to be concerned but unwilling to press when Isabela so clearly didn't want her help, but perhaps there was something she could do for her.

"Come with me."

"You can't be serious. I returned the boat!"

"Not that. I just thought you might like to wash the fish off you and change your clothes. I'll keep an eye out for Hawke."

"Thank you Aveline," Isabela said sincerely.

"If you ever tell anyone about this I'll put you in stocks for a week."

* * *

_A/N: In reviewing this chapter before posting it I made a lot of revisions, basically taking a hatchet to what I had written, deleting some and moving some to the next chapter, and I'm still not satisfied with it. What I am trying to get across (keeping in mind that there's only about 5-6 chapters left and I don't want to draw it out too long as we've got a lot of ground to cover) is that Isabela has an image of herself - Captain Isabela - which doesn't include love, children, and commitments to anything other than her ship. But a part of her wants the life of her dream and she can't reconcile the two conflicting images of herself. As Bethany said to Isabela earlier, she's changed, except Bela either doesn't want to or can't see it._

_ In my own life I have found that in times of self-doubt or difficulty it's easy to feel lost and for things that you would normally brush off to instead cut deeply and become huge obstacles which then leads to more self-doubt as you struggle to regain your footing. I think when taken together with the next chapter it becomes a little clearer to you, the reader (without me explicitly stating it the notes) that that's what is happening to Isabela, she's swimming in quicksand, but if not please let me know and I'll try and clean it up. _

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: spectre4hire, deadpool626, and another anonymous friend._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six:**

Two days.

For two miserable fucking days and three long nights Hawke had been searching everywhere for Isabela. He was even so desperate that he had twice searched the Chantry, figuring that it was the last place Isabela was likely to go or that she'd think he'd look. Kirkwall was not exactly a small city, but never before had it seemed so large.

The worst part though was he wasn't sure if his friends were helping him find her or helping Isabela hide from him.

'_You just missed her Hawke'_ or '_Where'd she go. I swear Hawke she was just here a moment ago.'_

It was getting to the point where the next person who said anything remotely like those words would be lucky if he only beat them within an inch of their life.

And if always 'just missing' Isabela wasn't bad enough there were the obstacles that kept getting placed in his way as though he had somehow personally offended Andraste and the Maker himself.

'_Champion will you please help me? My daughter's been kidnapped by bandits?'_

'_Champion do I ever have a business proposition for you!'_

Or his personal favourite.

'_Champion please help me, my cat is stuck up in a tree.'_

Had his parents not raised him right he would be standing atop the highest point of the Keep shouting at the top of his lungs 'Kirkwall go fuck yourselves I have my own problems to deal with,' but instead he helped where he could, kept his mouth shut, and fretted over the time lost. Perhaps he should ask for a stipend from the city? He resolved more problems for Kirkwall than any guardsman and certainly far more than a thousand templars ever did.

Hawke emerged into the sun of Lowtown and stomped his feet, trying to get the muck off his boots. It was sad really, but things never seemed to change in Darktown - crime was rampant, lives were cheap, someone was always in need, and it was impossible not to get shit on your boots.

Darktown was also a good place to hide though. No one asked any questions and everyone minded their own business so as not to draw attention, or knifes, to themselves.

Hawke normally patrolled Darktown no less than every fourth day, but he'd probably equalled a month's worth of patrols searching for Isabela to no avail. About the only positive thing was that the rats who scurried and hid when they patrolled had been coming out in force not expecting him to return so soon. Perhaps with their deaths the poor souls who dwelt there might get a few peaceful days as the criminals and thugs fought among themselves for position before they again began turning the screws.

It was hard, bloody work especially when he'd been by himself for most of it, but maybe it might make a difference. Probably not, but since he'd come up empty-handed Hawke had to find some silver lining to all the death and wasted effort.

He paused for a moment, trying to decide whether to stop at the Hanged Man or just go home. Hawke was dirty, smelly, tired, angry, sore, and hungry. More than anything else though he wanted to sit down and have something to drink. It might just be in his head but Darktown had a foul taste to it that always seemed to coat his tongue and he wanted to be rid of it.

The Hanged Man was closer and that more than anything made up his mind.

Hawke entered and from force of habit looked for Isabela in her familiar spot at the bar and found it empty. He grabbed an empty table and ordered a pint and a meal.

Norah had just returned with his pint when Varric strolled up, sat down, and ordered one for himself.

"Checking Darktown again?" asked Varric. He already knew the answer, the smell had given him away.

Hawke grunted his agreement.

"Looks like it was bad one," the dwarf said noting the dried blood on Hawke's armour and the grimace as he raised his tankard.

"Slavers. They were rounding up children," Hawke said flatly. "I was lucky, one ran to Anders - some lightning, a little knife work and it was over."

"You could have asked."

"I didn't think-" Hawke said exasperatedly. That was the truth of it in one. He hadn't thought. He had been angry, frustrated, and spoiling for a fight to bleed off some tension and had stupidly patrolled alone. He knew better, but whether through a false confidence after successfully patrolling alone or the overhanging doubt of not finding Isabela he hadn't thought, and he had nearly paid the price for his stupidity.

Thankfully Norah arrived with his meal, ending that line of conversation.

They talked idly while Hawke ate. Varric thoughtfully waited until Hawke was finished before sharing his news.

"Isabela's in her room."

For a long moment Hawke just sat there.

"I don't think I'm of right mind to try and speak to her tonight, I just might strangle her."

"If you don't speak to her tonight it'll have to wait till you get back," Varric said compassionately. He hated to bring it up, but business was business and they all had a lot riding his voyage. Hawke looked at him without comprehension. "You've forgotten Hawke, hardly surprising with everything going on. You're supposed to sail to Amaranthine tomorrow to meet our new friends."

'_Shit,'_ Hawke thought to himself, he had forgotten.

Hawke was to take sail on the _Otter_ in the morning and travel back to Ferelden with one of Varric's uncles, Donar, who while a pleasant enough travelling companion was somehow every stereotype of a dwarven merchant rolled up into one. While Varric was the undisputed head of House Tethras, Donar was akin to a trusted lieutenant who often performed the more mundane and public tasks of overseeing the family's substantial holdings.

In Ferelden they were to meet several merchants who traded in the City of Amaranthine and Denerim. The merchants were interested in setting up a new trade route to Kirkwall now that his homeland had substantially recovered from the Blight.

Varric had worked most of the details of the agreements out when the merchants had been in Kirkwall, but as a condition before signing they had insisted upon meeting him as Hawke was a part owner and the public face of the particular Tethras family company the merchants would be dealing with. The merchants had wanted to meet and judge him as the man who titularly they would be in business with since it was partly upon his reputation and honour the agreements rested. At the time he had been at Chateau Haine on a somewhat profitable but altogether frustrating quest to steal the Heart of the Many and had missed the merchants visit. It spoke to the desire of all parties to consummate the agreements with one another that they had set another date to perfect the contracts before the merchants had returned home, and that day had come - at the worst possible time.

To Hawke the potential rewards of the deal were a secondary concern. What excited him was that if these deals worked out as expected there would be cause to buy their own ship. Ships needed captains and Hawke already had a certain Rivaini in mind. That was the true lure for Hawke, not the gold of which he already possessed far more than he would ever need.

Ever since he had returned from the Deep Roads a wealthy man Hawke had given most of his gold for Varric to invest on his behalf. Hawke had kept just enough to purchase and repair the Amell Estate to its former glory and see to his family and daily needs. In the years since Varric had done quite well by him. Certainly Varric's investments had turned out far better than his part ownership of the Bone Pit, that is unless the purpose of his investment had been to kill dragons and all other manner of monsters. Hawke now had more wealth than he had once ever dreamt possible and each month Varric gave him a heavy bag of coin as his share of the profits. Added to that was the not insignificant profits from the adventures he kept finding himself in too. Taken together there was gold enough that if he had a little one his great-great grandchildren would never want for anything.

The one disadvantage of Varric's business opportunities though was that occasionally Hawke had to 'act to the Champion' and meet all manner of people, setting their minds at ease and regaling them with stories of his adventures. Knowing that he didn't enjoy it Varric only asked when it was absolutely necessary and as such he had never once refused. In this case it was even more necessary as he was the linchpin underlying the agreements.

Hawke had to go to Amaranthine, however much he might wish not to. He owed at least that much to his friend who had helped him and his family so much over the years. Varric knew he would go and so didn't press.

He finished his pint and said to the dwarf, "Wish me luck."

Pushing himself away from the table he walked upstairs.

"Bela, it's Hawke," he said, knocking on the door. "I know you're in there and I want to talk. Please Bela, open the door and speak to me."

He waited and listened for any movement inside for several minutes.

"Bela, we both know I could easily pick the lock on your door, but I'm not going to do that. If you don't want to see me then I won't press.'

"I wanted to tell you that I'm off to Amaranthine tomorrow. I expect that I'll be gone for at least a few weeks, perhaps longer. At one point you spoke of coming with me." Hawke waited for what felt like an eternity for a response, any response.

"If you're still here when I get back maybe you'll speak to me. Tell me what's wrong. I thought things between us were going well. I guess I was wrong. I just want to speak to you, to understand. If not-" his voice trailed off, unsure of what he'd do, but knowing he was quickly reaching the end of his rope. A small part of Hawke wondered whether it would be less painful if Isabela simply left Kirkwall again - left him again. With him gone it was her chance for a clean escape.

He stomped off, making as much noise as he could in a childish attempt to let Bela know how angry he was. He resisted the temptation to look back and see if she had opened the door.

The dwarf didn't have to ask how it went, it was written all over his friend's face.

"Some time apart might be for the best Hawke. It will give Rivaini some time to work out whatever is bothering her. Don't worry; I'll keep an eye on her for you. We all will."

Perhaps Varric was right. Perhaps they all were. Everyone had been telling him the same thing, to give Isabela some space. It was so hard though. If he knew what the problem was then he maybe he could help. Even if he couldn't help if she just spoke to him, told him what was upsetting her.

He hated feeling helpless when someone he cared for was in trouble. He had lost so many dear to him: Father, Carver, Mother, and Bethany locked away in the Gallows like some criminal. It made him hold on all that much harder to those that remained so that there was never again anyone else. Hawke knew that this was the wrong tactic with Isabela, that in trying to help he might be driving her away, but he couldn't help himself. He was concerned and did not want to lose her again.

Maybe this trip might be for the best. It might force him to do what he couldn't and that was let go. He had to trust in his friends. He had to trust in Isabela and what they shared.

"Good night Varric and thank you. See you when I get back."

…

Isabela didn't exactly know why she wouldn't open the door.

Certainly she knew Hawke was angry, it was clear from his voice. He had every right to be angry. Had their circumstances been reversed Isabela probably would have at least given him a good scar by now, but not Hawke, that wasn't him.

At the very least Isabela knew that she should apologize for striking him and breaking his nose. However, that knowledge didn't move her legs to the door or make her speak.

She still didn't know what to do with the life growing inside her. Twice now she had bought the necessary herbs to brew an abortive. Twice now she had failed to drink the mixture down.

Isabela was at war with herself. Her preferences for an uncomplicated life without commitment battled against the dream she now had each night of her, Hawke, and their baby, now pink-faced and so tiny and helpless. In the dream she was happier and more content than she had ever thought possible. Then she would wake and reality would set in. She would look in mirror and see the truth - that she wasn't fit to be a mother; that there was no future with Hawke; and that she was only fooling herself to think otherwise. She would get the mixture to her mouth and then the visions would flood over her, stripping away her resolve and leaving her a wreck.

It would be so much easier if Hawke wasn't a good man. Even now he was angry with her, but his anger was born of concern for her and the fact that she wouldn't see or speak to him. If she opened the door Isabela knew the look of anger on Hawke's face would quickly be replaced by one of relief.

Their friends told her that Hawke was running himself ragged looking for her. She should be flattered that he cared so much. She should feel relieved or happy. She should open the damn door, but she didn't…couldn't. If she did Isabela knew she would confess that his child was growing inside her. Would he welcome the news or would he want her to end it. Isabela wasn't sure and worse still she wasn't sure how she would feel with either choice - happy that her life wouldn't change or sad that Hawke too didn't think her worthy to be a fit mother to his child.

Her life had been so much easier before Hawke.

She listened as he said he was leaving for Amaranthine in the morning. They had talked before about going together. She had so wanted to feel the sea underneath her again. They had laughed and joked about being locked in the ship's cabin for the voyage and of the strange beds they would find together in his homeland. She had been looking forward to it once. That felt like a lifetime ago.

A moment later Hawke was gone.

It felt like she was losing him.

Isabela drew her knees up to her chest and tried not to fall asleep, she didn't want to dream.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven:**

"Varric, have you spoken to Isabela?" Merrill asked with some concern.

"No Daisy. Why?"

"Well I saw her earlier today in the market. She was so focused, like when she is in battle. It was good to see her and I wanted to tell her so, it's been so long. I followed after her, thinking that she hadn't seen me."

"Isabela is usually so kind to me," the elf added softly as an afterthought as she looked around Varric's room, embarrassed.

She took a couple of steps and picked up a curio that had recently come into Varric's possession and examined it, watching the firelight reflections dance on its polished surface, all conversation seemingly forgotten.

"I called after her when she stopped," Merrill continued after unconsciously pocketing the curio. The elf was forever collecting items that captured her interest, fortunately for the magpie elf most held little value.

Varric noted her absent minded theft with a silent chuckle. It was a common enough occurrence and usually Merrill would later find whatever object had captivated her in a pocket and would set about returning it if she could remember where she had 'acquired' it. A few times when it had been something he had wanted back Varric had either spoken up or else visited Merrill's home to retrieve said object if its removal had gone unnoticed, a task becoming infinitely harder as her eclectic collection grew. Among their companions they had all learned long ago to keep interesting items locked away from curious elves, but her visit today had been unexpected and he'd been unprepared. At least with him Merrill didn't have to worry about the guards being called.

"Isabela was not happy to see me. She accused me of spying on her. She called me a … well I don't really know what she called me, but she was yelling so I assume it was bad. Everyone stopped to stare at me."

Varric watched the elf as tears welled up in her over-sized eyes at the memory. He was at a loss over what to do. He wasn't one to involve himself in other people's affairs but whatever was bothering the Rivaini needed to be resolved. Soon.

Last night at their regular card game Isabela was again a no show, the third time in a row. Even her usual spot at the bar downstairs was sitting empty and collecting dust as no one was willing to risk her wrath when she finally returned, especially not after what she did to Hawke. It had even gotten to the point where Aveline was concerned for the pirate's wellbeing. What was next, Anders petitioning to become a templar?

They had all thought that time apart from Hawke might bring Isabela out of her melancholy. They had been wrong. If anything she was getting worse and nothing they had tried so far had worked. The last time Varric had spoken to the Rivaini her eyes had been bloodshot, sunken, and withdrawn. She looked broken and Hawke had only been gone for just over a week.

Normally they would look to Hawke to soothe ruffled feathers and mend broken fences, but who stepped up when he was absent or worse the cause.

As much as he might wish otherwise it seemed to fall on Varric's shoulders. Other than Hawke he was the one who perhaps knew Rivaini best. Also, the dwarf would be lying if he said that he didn't feel some measure of guilt over the current situation. It was he who had committed Hawke to travel to Ferelden without asking first and making a bad situation worse. Of course never would he have expected things to turn out like this then. Varric, like Hawke and Isabela themselves, had expected the pair to go Ferelden together and then perhaps remain there for a time before returning to Kirkwall.

Varric knew how much Hawke hadn't wanted to leave, and the dwarf knew why he reluctantly did. Hawke left because of the bonds of friendship and trust between them, more so than any desire for coin. It was for those same bonds that Varric had given his word that he would look out for Rivaini and why, despite his nature, he would try and fix this mess.

"She didn't mean it Daisy," Varric said comfortingly. "It's just-"

"Hawke. Whatever is wrong between them."

Varric paused to look at the elf. With her peculiar manner and occasional obliviousness it was all too easy to forget that Merrill possessed a keen mind. He nodded in agreement.

"I wish Isabela would get better soon. I don't like to see her hurting."

"I know you don't. I don't either. I promise, I'll go speak to her."

With those words the elven blood mage suddenly rushed toward the dwarf and hugged him. At first taken aback it took a moment for Varric to return the embrace.

"What's this digging into me?" Merrill checked her pocket after breaking their hug, finding the curio. "My goodness, why do I keep finding things in my pockets! Wherever did this come from?"

"Oh, that's mine Daisy. You must have accidentally put it in your pocket after looking at it."

"Again?" Merrill said resignedly, setting the offending object on the table. "I'm sorry Varric. By the Creators I really don't understand how you put up with me."

"It's a chore Daisy," he said laughing, "a real chore." The dwarf saw the moment Merrill realized that he wasn't being serious. The Dalish elf blushed, colouring her facial tattoos, before hesitantly joining his laughter.

…

"Get the FUCK OUT!" Isabela screamed at the dwarf. "If you ever break into my room again I'll gut you like a fish."

"That could have gone better," Varric muttered to himself once he had safely retreated to the hall.

Contrary to what Hawke claimed Varric did not in fact have a second set of eyes he used to watch over the Hanged Man. In all honesty he hadn't thought that Isabela had been in her room when he had called upon her, which was why he had picked the lock. Having decided to try and help, Varric had figured that some additional information was in order since clearly the Rivaini didn't want to talk, and what better place to find some than in her room. As the saying went, '_In for a copper, in for a sovereign.'_ He wouldn't normally have done so - not to a friend - but Isabela's actions had left him little other choice. They had all tried to get her to open up about whatever was upsetting her after giving the rogue ample time to work through it herself. Instead it seemed that the more they tried to speak to her the further she withdrew from them.

It started out well enough. A lock picked with skill and precision to find a dark, seemingly empty room. Then it all went wrong when he lit a candle only to find a sullen pirate looking like death warmed over sitting silently in the darkness. He had tried to explain, to voice his concern for her, to no avail.

Then the blades came out and suddenly the Arishok seemed like a gentle nug in comparison.

The dwarf set off downstairs, wanting to speak to Corff to make arrangements for food to brought up to Isabela's room. The pirate had looked gaunt and sickly to his eyes, adding yet another worry.

Once done Varric set off for Darktown in the hopes that Anders could be persuaded to check up on the pirate. She looked in need of healing.

Maybe he would have better luck with her. One of them had to get through to Isabela before Hawke returned.

…

Hawke stood on the docks of the City of Amaranthine and looked out across the Waking Sea toward the Free Marches. He had stopped after booking passage back to Kirkwall for their party, forgoing invitations to Vigil's Keep and Denerim but promising to return. The meetings had gone well, better even than expected and the signed contracts were safely in Donar's hands, however he couldn't take any enjoyment over it or even from being back in his homeland. Not with so much unresolved back in Kirkwall.

Isabela and how he had left things with her was never far from his thoughts. It felt like he was losing her, and worse still he didn't even know why.

He had loved Isabela for years, almost from the first moment he had laid eyes upon her. It was at the Hanged Man and he had watched as she easily dispatched a bunch of crooks. There was a confidence born of experience and skill about her, which combined with her exotic looks and sultry manner combined to form a woman unlike any he had ever met before. He had been attracted to Isabela right from the start, but once he began to get to know her his feelings quickly grew. Together they seemed to form a matching pair, their manner, tastes, skills, and abilities complementing each other either in battle or in the bedroom. He had fallen deeply and madly in love with Bela and thought that she had felt the same.

Then the battle with the Arishok came and she left him, alone and scarred, both physically from the Qunari's blades and worse from a broken heart. It had taken months for him to regain any semblance of normalcy. Except he wasn't back to his old self, he had been distant, short-tempered, and brooding. His friends and especially his mother had tried everything to bring him out of his funk. He had been introduced to so many women in the hopes that one would catch his eye and make him forget. He had dallied with some and politely declined others, but none compared favourably to his pirate.

Bela would return to Kirkwall three long, lonely years later. Mindful of being hurt again it had taken some time before they had again found themselves in each other's arms. The time apart was never spoken of, but that didn't mean it was forgotten.

He had wanted more from her, from himself, for a long time, but more than that he had wanted Bela to remain in his life. While he hoped for more, Hawke had reluctantly come to terms with the status quo as it was better than the alternative. Whatever they had now was far better than not having Bela around at all. Her presence steadied him; the years apart had proven that.

It was hard, but he had tried not to force things. However, things had begun to change on their own. Isabela had begun spending the night in his bed and he had thought that maybe she too wanted more. Then just as quickly she had pulled away from him without explanation.

He had begun to change too. The status quo that he had convinced himself that he could accept was no longer enough, he could see that now. It had to change, but would he lose Bela?

"Pathetic," Hawke said to himself. If the people who hung on every word of Varric's tales of his exploits could look inside his head and see the indecision, the fear, and the uncertainty over a woman that's what they would say. Many just assumed that he could have almost anyone he wanted, but he didn't want anyone, he wanted Bela. He had faced genuine monsters and lived. He had endured and suffered more than any soul should and yet the thought of speaking honestly and openly to the woman he loved scared him.

A cold nose touched the palm of his hand as his mabari Dane pushed against him and gave a little whine.

"Never you my friend, me," Hawke said as he knelt down and rubbed Dane's ears. "I can't stop thinking about her Dane."

The mabari turned his head sideways and regarded him quizzically before licking Hawke's face.

"I know you love me boy. I love you too, but it's different with Bela. It's complicated."

The mabari barked, voicing his opinion on the matter.

"Oh come on, you know it is."

Dane ran off and returned a few moments later with a stick clenched firmly in his jaws, dropping it before Hawke.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not sure Bela would. She'd probably just beat me upside the head with it."

Dane chuffed, a sound that always made Hawke feel as though his hound was laughing. He joined his hound, imagining the look on Bela's face after unwrapping a stick and figuring that he wasn't too far off the mark on her presumed reaction. It never failed to amaze him how smart and intuitive his hound was. Dane always seemed to sense when he needed cheering up and was always there for him.

His mabari shamelessly rolled onto his back for a belly rub and Hawke obliged.

"Come on boy," he said when he finished. "I'll see about borrowing a horse and we'll leave the city. You can remind Ferelden's rabbits who's boss."

Dane barked for joy as he jumped around his master in a circle. It was a long trip back to Kirkwall and while Dane travelled fairly well, Hawke knew that he didn't enjoy being cooped up with nowhere to run. They might as well enjoy the open space and get some exercise in while they could. It might even make the time pass quicker. If he stayed in the city doing nothing Hawke knew that he would just end up brooding, and there was time enough for that on the voyage home.

...

Isabela reached for the flask containing the mixture that would change her life back to the way it once was, easy and uncomplicated, and hesitated.

Once again she had dreamt last night of Hawke and their child growing inside her. The only difference was that instead of a bearded Hawke-baby the child had been a beautiful baby girl named Marian, beginning with adult features before slowly growing younger until a fresh faced babe.

The female Hawke (at least that was how she thought of her) held many of the same features as her Hawke. There was still the same black hair, cut short and tousled in a casual way that either came naturally or with a great deal of effort. The eyes were still a rich cerulean, and the nose and jaw were the same too except a little softer, more feminine. Marian had high cheekbones and soft red pouty lips. Taken together Marion was absolutely stunning and was just what Isabela would have imagined if Hawke had been born a girl.

"For it to work Serah you need to to drink it down," the herb-woman said with a touch of annoyance, stirring Isabela from her thoughts. She quickly pocketed the payment before her customer could change her mind.

Isabela had come to her shop at least five times now over the last few days. She lingered about, disturbing her customers and never buying a thing. Usually when Isabela visited she knew what she wanted, bought it, and left. Lately it had been different and the herb-woman finally understood as she mixed the abortive.

The herb-woman had been in business for many years and she had seen it before. It was an old story after all: stupid girls getting into trouble and then realizing that the man in question was not some noble knight but rather a worthless prick whispering sweet words solely for a chance at wetting his cock in her. Too many found themselves alone and with indecision over what to do about the babe their 'knight' had stuck them with. She hadn't thought Isabela the sentimental type but what did she know, she was here to sell herbs and profit from their stupidity. It had been a long time since the herb-woman had felt remorse for her customers.

"I know that you crone," the rogue answered sharply.

The herb-woman reached for the flask and put a cork stopper in it before quickly sealing it with wax. "It's good for three days, longer than that and I can't be certain. Take it or don't, just begone from my store." She forced the flask into the rogue's hands and gave a push, eager to see the last of her 'best' customer.

Isabela took the flask, wondering whether to drink it down now before her courage left her. The dream last night, a daughter of her own, had affected her even more than when she dreamt of baby Malcolm.

She tried to force herself to take it, but she couldn't. She just didn't have the strength.

Not wanting to embarrass herself further, and practically feeling the annoyance of the herb-woman, Isabela left, determined to try again later.

...

Hawke stepped into the foyer of his Hightown estate happy to be home despite the late hour. They had made good time back to Kirkwall which was probably for the best as the crew of the _Clipper_ was likely glad to see the last of him. The ship had set anchor in the harbour late in the evening, waiting for a berth, and Hawke had paid to have the crew row his party ashore rather than wait for morning.

Donar would see to it that Varric would receive the signed trade agreements and so he had gone home unsure of what he would find.

Dane quickly bounded off to sniff and inspect the house and reassert his dominance. Hawke had only just made it to his desk in the study when Bohdan appeared in his night clothes.

"Good evening Messere, a pleasure to have you back. I trust your trip was successful."

"Thank you Bohdan it was. Are there any messages for me?"

"The usual Messere, however you have received a message from the Hanged Man." The dwarf approached and pointed to the wax sealed note, set apart from the other correspondence and in a position he would be sure to notice first.

"Nothing from Isabela?" Hawke asked hopefully.

"I am sorry Messere, but we have not seen hide nor hair of her in your absence." The dwarf sensed Hawke's impatience to open the note. "Do you need anything? A late snack perhaps?"

"No. Go back to whatever it was you were doing before I returned." Hawke said dismissively and instantly regretted his tone. The dwarf turned and began to leave. "I'm sorry Bohdan, thank you. It has been a long trip and one I couldn't have made without knowing that you were here to see to things."

"Good night Messere. Get some sleep. There is nothing there that cannot wait until the morning."

As soon as he alone Hawke broke the seal and read the note. It was from Varric and said nothing other than to come to the Hanged Man and speak to him as soon as possible.

He had hoped, no expected, that there would be something from Bela - an apology, a note, even a damned piece of vellum bearing his name with a dagger through it - anything. He couldn't help being a little disappointed, angry, and feeling the fool that he had spent weeks pining for her and Bela seemed not to care.

He thought about leaving right then but decided that Bohdan was right and it could wait until morning.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: deadpool626, A fan, Janet Burns, and spectre4hire._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Hawke stepped out onto the Gallow's docks alone and armed for war.

He was sick of it - all of it - Kirkwall, the Chantry, the Templars, the Mages, Meredith, missing Bethany, his supposed friends running diversions to keep him occupied and distracted, and most especially of Isabela.

Something had to give. _Today._

He was not so stupid to think that he could press Isabela as to why she had withdrawn from him. She could be as slippery as an eel when she wanted and worse still she could strike like a viper when cornered. He had thought to give her some time and space to come to terms with whatever was bothering her, after which he perhaps naively believed that she would talk to him after making peace with her troubles. But no such luck and the worst part was that aside from Isabela hurting her hand from punching his face Hawke didn't know what he'd done. He had racked his brain countless times and had never found the answer.

Things had been good, no better than good, and then it had suddenly changed after she'd gone to visit Bethany.

Knowing that the templars wouldn't admit him, Hawke had asked Aveline to check to make sure Bethany was fine weeks ago when this all began. Thankfully Bethany was well, but the guard captain had returned with little else to help him. He knew both Aveline and Isabela cared deeply for his sister and would have told him had there been trouble with Bethany, however, as far as he knew Isabela's visit had been when everything had changed.

If Bela would not speak to him then Bethany held the answers Hawke sought. He had awakened today determined to get them. He would finally see his sister and then he would confront Bela. One way or another, things would come to a head today. It occurred to him that he was treating this as more reconnaissance for an upcoming battle than a brotherly visit - it should have shamed him, but instead he vowed to somehow make it up to Bethany.

Hawke walked purposefully into the Gallow's courtyard, hearing whispers from mage and templar alike follow in his wake. He quickly looked for Knight-Captain Cullen before settling on another senior templar.

"I wish to speak to my sister, Enchanter Bethany."

"Serah Hawke, you know that isn't possible."

"I am prepared to wait a reasonable amount of time for my sister to be brought here to me. If at the end of that time I do not see Bethany than I will go inside and find her myself."

The Knight-Lieutenant heard the promise in Hawke's voice and noted the well-used armaments the Champion bore and the nearness of his hands to them. He called over a young templar, eager to pass this mess off onto someone else. "Quickly, fetch Knight-Captain Cullen and bring him here. Tell him Serah Hawke wishes to visit with his sister."

Hawke stepped away from the lieutenant and carefully chose his spot to wait.

Cullen walked into the courtyard and instantly felt the eerie stillness of the place. There was an air of tense anticipation in both the mages and templars he passed that bode ill. It felt like a tinderbox, needing just a spark to ignite and then the Gallows would burn around them.

Potentially, there was the spark before him - Serah Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and slayer of the Qunari Arishok - loaded for bear. He had warned the Knight-Commander against her chosen tact with him. Fereldens were a proud people and much like their beloved mabaris one could only push them so far before feeling their teeth on your throat. Hawke was not a starving refugee, dirt poor and living on the fringes of society. He was a man who had pulled himself up from nothing to become one of Kirkwall's most prominent citizens through sheer determination, intelligence, skill, courage, and finally the strength of his sword arm. Hawke had proven himself worthy of respect or at the very least some caution.

Cullen carefully studied Hawke, noting the seeming calmness about him, but the templar was not fooled by it. Hawke's face looked as though it was carved from granite and he had positioned himself so that he had clear lines of sight to the templars standing guard. While his hands were presently empty the templar noted their nearness to the blades he used to such deadly effect. Everything about him screamed of a man capable of and prepared to do great violence. It did not matter that there were over five hundred templars in the Gallows and another two hundred recruits who would quickly overwhelm him.

Clearly Hawke was a man unimpressed by the strength and power of the Templar Order and was no longer willing to be put off even if it cost him dearly. That latter point more than anything confirmed the decision he'd already made when told Hawke was waiting.

The only positive thing to be said of the present situation was that Hawke had timed his visit well, as the Knight-Commander was at the Viscount's Keep and was not expected back until evening. The increasingly paranoid and belligerent Commander seemed determined to force a confrontation with the Champion. Had Meredith been in the Gallows today it was very likely blood would be shed. Would the mages watching stand idly by as their advocate was stuck down, a certainty with the numbers against him, or would they join him in battle? Cullen suspected that he already knew the answer and was in no hurry to be proven correct.

Whether through luck or more likely the Maker's grace the decision was his to make and Cullen had no interest in forcing an unnecessary battle in which no one would win.

The Knight-Captain stopped before the Champion and turned to the templar beside him before the lad could rush off.

"Have Enchanter Bethany brought down to the courtyard immediately. Inform her that her brother is here to see her."

"But Captain, the Knight-Commander's orders-"

"On my authority," Cullen commanded, seeing him snap to attention. _Had the templar no sense? Could he not see they were all walking on the knife's edge toward madness?_ He struggled to remember the templar's name. _Geoffrey…Geoffrey Slade._ Recently promoted to full templar and the reports said the lad was a bit thick-headed but devoutly loyal to the Order and their charge to protect Thedas from the evils of magic. It was a description that increasingly applied to those recruits accepted into the Order lately, and truthfully Cullen wasn't certain it augered well for the Templars.

Cullen received a nod of thanks from the Champion and waited with him. Although neither man spoke Cullen felt it was important for both the mages and templars watching that he stand his ground and try to calm the situation.

There was a palpable sense of relief throughout the courtyard when Enchanter Bethany arrived and the Champion's stern gaze broke into a smile.

"Good day Enchanter, Champion." Cullen withdrew, gesturing the templars away from the siblings to grant them some privacy.

Bethany hugged her brother, not even minding the hard edges of his armour being pressed against her as he lifted her from her feet. It had been over a year since she had last seen him and second-hand tales from their friends were a poor substitute to seeing Garrett with her own eyes.

He set her down and Bethany pulled him along to a secluded corner of the courtyard where they could talk freely. Especially after Aveline's last visit Bethany had suspected Garrett would find some way to see her.

She scrutinized him carefully, trying to determine from his manner and appearance Isabela's decision.

"How are the templars treating you Bethy?"

"Fine Garrett, I'm fine. You?"

"Miserable. It's Bela," he paused, searching for the words.

'_No!'_ Bethany thought to herself, fearing the worst. She had not seen or heard from Isabela since her visit.

"Aveline told me what happened; about the Hanged Man and your nose."

He gave a hollow laugh, "It's a wonder it doesn't get broken more often, except this time I don't understand what I did and Isabela won't speak to me. I've been gone, back to Ferelden for Varric, for over two weeks and I return last night to find that not once has she been to the house, not even a damned note. I foolishly thought that she would be waiting for me, that she cared."

Bethany nearly blurted out her secret. Except she had given Isabela her word, and besides which it was not her place to tell.

She watched her brother studying her face. He had long ago mastered the art of meeting her eyes, never blinking, until she broke and gave up whatever secrets she held. However she was no longer that little girl whose twin brother nailed her braid to the bed while she slept and looked to Garrett for protection.

"Everything seemed fine before Bela left to come visit you Bethy. Do you have any idea what upset her?"

"Garrett please, you're putting me in an awkward position. I gave Isabela my word."

The two sat in silence until Garrett tried another tactic, "Should I be concerned? Please I have to know and if she won't speak to me-"

Unfortunately, there was no easy answer to that question. She never would have guessed that Isabela would strike Garrett and then refuse to even speak to him. It seemed unnecessarily cruel of her which was so unlike the rogue since she'd returned.

Bethany thought back and remembered Isabela's indecision over her pregnancy and suddenly she knew - as strong as Isabela was this decision was too much for her.

If the rogue hadn't any feelings for Garrett then the decision would be relatively easy for her, but she did and it wasn't. The rogue had needed to confide in someone who would understand and support her if she couldn't or wouldn't speak to Garrett. As far as Bethany knew there was only Aveline or Merrill who Isabela might consider, but both seemed unlikely. Instead Isabela had taken it all upon herself and it was tearing her apart. The mage desperately wished she could go to Isabela and comfort her.

Bethany thought carefully before answering, not wanting to betray a confidence but still wanting to help them both in some way.

"Just be there for her Garrett. She's hurting and in pain. Be there for Isabela and tell her how you feel about her. Don't assume she already knows - say the words. Part of the problem with you two is that neither one of you have the courage to admit what's been obvious to everyone else for some time."

Bethany pulled her brother closer, whispering in his ear, "Go to her Garrett. Tell Isabela that you love her." She then gave him a gentle push.

He looked to her for confirmation and she nodded for him to go.

"I will return soon for a proper visit Bethy. I swear it," Hawke said solemnly. Bethany heard the promise in his voice and hoped it would be with good news.

Through teary eyes Bethany watched Garrett leave, sending her prayers along with him. He looked back a final time and once again she urged him on.

"Don't let me down Isabela," she said quietly.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Paradox._

_I promise that the next chapter (or more likely two depending upon if I split it up as it's over 6,000 words barring last minute editing) will see Hawke & Isabela finally in the same room. I wanted to keep them separate for a while for a couple of reasons: to let Isabela really feel the weight of the decision. Hopefully I've done a somewhat decent job of showing that Bela's struggling with it. Also for Hawke (who still hasn't completely gotten over Isabela leaving him in Act II) to confront some of his fears. He's settled for the status quo with Isabela because he doesn't want to push and lose her again, but I've tried to create a situation where (from his point of view and keeping in mind he doesn't know she's pregnant) that has to change._

_In this chapter I wanted some family bonding and sisterly advice. It also seemed like a very rogue-like thing to do - come at the problem sideways to get an answer. Bela won't speak to you and she was fine before visiting Bethany, then go to the Gallows for answers. Similar to why Varric broke into Isabela's room looking for answers last chapter rather than confront her directly again._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine:**

Hawke was almost at the top step to the second floor of the Hanged Man when he saw Varric standing in the doorway to his rooms. In all the years he had known the dwarf Hawke had never once surprised him with his entrance. He had often joked that Varric had a second set of eyes focused solely downstairs in the tavern.

"You're back Hawke," said the dwarf, stating the obvious. "No doubt you're here to see Rivaini, but there's some things you should know first."

Hawke felt his temper rising and tamped it back down. While his friends had no doubt meant well their advice to give Isabela space and time they had been wrong and he had been just as wrong to follow it. He moved to continue on toward Bela's room but the dwarf intercepted him and gestured for Hawke to enter his rooms.

"Fine." Resigned, Hawke stepped into Varric's plush abode. The dwarf closed the door behind him.

"We were wrong to tell you to give Isabela some space."

He thought of gloating, but there was no point. They had meant well and ultimately he had been the fool who had left.

"As near as I can tell she hasn't left her room in almost four days, maybe even longer. We've all tried to speak to her, by the ancestors we've tried, but now she even refuses to see any of us."

Varric paused to meet Hawke's eyes, to give some indication of both his concern and his regret.

"Eventually, I picked the lock to her door. It didn't go over well. Rivaini put a dagger a hairs-breadth from my ear from across the room. Since then I've had Norah bring food and drink to her room, but I don't know if she's eaten any of it. No one has seen her."

"I swear Hawke, we've all tried to speak to her, more than once. It's a good thing Daisy only understood half of what Rivaini said to her the last time or else the poor girl would still be in tears. We've tried everything."

"It's bad Hawke."

Unwilling to wait any longer Hawke moved to leave.

"Just watch yourself Hawke, Rivaini is not herself. And I'm sorry," Varric said to his friend's back. "I'm so sorry."

…

"Bela, it's Hawke," he said after knocking on the door.

Receiving no answer he tried the door and found it unlocked.

"I'm coming in."

Isabela's room was dark, lit only by the sunlight coming through the threadbare curtains over the room's small window and the light from the hall. The light, or lack of it, though was not the first thing Hawke noticed, it was the smell. The room smelt of food left out to rot, a faint medicinal smell, and most powerfully unwashed bodies. Those smells mixed with the mustiness that Hawke always associated with the Hanged Man, and were further enhanced by the warmth of the room which was hot enough that he could already feel the beginnings of perspiration underneath his armour.

The remains of several untouched meals lay on the desk. Hawke couldn't help wondering why Norah wouldn't have taken them away at some point before bringing more. Such questions however would have to wait. He lit several candles and then drew back the curtains over the small window and opened it, hoping to let in some light and also cool and air the room out.

There was a makeshift curtain of a ship's sail blocking the view of Bela's bed. If his pirate was anywhere she was behind it. Remembering Varric's warning he unbuckled his weapons, hanging them from the back of a chair, before stopping before the bed.

"Bela, it's me, Hawke." he said slowly. "I'm going to pull this curtain back."

With an air of tense anticipation, both because he was worried but also because he missed and wanted to see her, Hawke began to draw the makeshift curtain back. He was about half-way when Isabela clumsily lunged at him with a dagger in her hand.

He jumped back as his left hand came down to catch Isabela's wrist. He caught her other wrist with his right. Immediately she pushed against him, snarling like a wild animal.

"Stop it Bela. It's me, Hawke. Please stop. I don't want to hurt you."

Hawke began to squeeze Isabela's wrist until she had to drop the dagger. He kicked the blade away with his foot as he eased the pressure, however he did not let go.

Safely disarmed he looked her over carefully. Isabela looked crazed. Her hair hadn't seen a brush in days and was matted to her head by sweat. Her clothes, which Bela was normally so particular about, were rumpled and stained from perspiration, having been worn for days. There was no polite way to say it but she stank from wearing dirty clothes and not washing herself.

Worst of all though were her eyes. Isabela's eyes were bloodshot, cold, and seemingly unfeeling.

As much as Hawke had regretted leaving, it was now infinitely worse. He would have given everything for the power to go back in time. He pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her. Even if had he not cared for her Hawke never would have wanted to see someone suffer like this.

"What have you done Bela?" he said softly as his tears began to fall.

Isabela pounded his back, fighting to get away from him, but it only made Hawke embrace her more fiercely as if he feared letting her go.

Gradually Isabela no longer fought him and her own arms clutched him tightly. Throughout it all Hawke whispered words of apology, regret, and reassurance that everything would be fine. His own tears were joined by Isabela's as her body wrenched with great sobs. He gently brushed his fingers through her hair as her head rested against his chest. He silently cursed himself that he had not thought to take off his armour, after the Gallows he had been so eager to see her.

Hawke wasn't aware when but he realized that Isabela had fallen asleep in his arms. He got a sense that it had been some time since she had actually slept.

Gently he extracted himself from her and laid her down on the bed. He had only taken a couple of steps.

"Hawke, don't leave me."

He turned and knelt down on the floor beside where Isabela's head lay.

"I won't," he said softly as he gently brushed some hair away from her forehead which he then leaned in to kiss. "When was the last time you slept Bela?"

"Four - five days," was the shaky answer.

"Rest Bela, I promise that I will still be here when you wake," Hawke said solemnly as he caressed her cheek.

He stayed there on his knees until he was absolutely certain that the rogue was asleep. Not knowing what else to do, and careful not to wake her, Hawke removed his armour and then began to tidy up Isabela's room. He did not want anyone to see Isabela in her present vulnerable state. It was shocking enough for him to see like this, but if word slipped out around the Hanged Man it would be like tossing blood in the water.

Hawke picked up clothing thrown onto the floor or laying on chairs and placed all of it in a pile for washing, not even bothering to see whether it needed it or not. He picked up the dagger he had earlier kicked away and another that was stuck in the wall, likely the one thrown at Varric, and set them both back in their sheaths.

He found an empty potion flask and sniffed it, recoiling from the powerful lingering smell. It wasn't anything he was familiar with. He placed the flask on one of plates of uneaten food which he then set outside her door. It was while he was doing this that Hawke received more proof that Varric had eyes everywhere in the Hanged Man as the dwarf came out of his room even though Hawke had barely made a sound.

Briefly Hawke filled Varric in, and the dwarf said he would make arrangements to have the plates picked up and Isabela's clothes sent out for washing. Hawke tried to press his coin purse into Varric's hand, but the dwarf refused. Hawke vowed to settle up later.

With the cleaning done Hawke locked the door and took a look around, it looked a damn sight better than it did before. He thought that he got everything back in its proper place but he knew if he hadn't Isabela would happily let him know. Normally she was very fastidious and structured when it came to her own quarters, a legacy of her time at sea she had once said. On a ship space was always at a premium and so everything had to have a proper place, lest it be caught underfoot or damaged by the motions of the sea. It was one of those things that even those close to her might not know about Isabela as it seemed so at odds with her carefree, freewheeling nature.

He pulled a chair over beside where Isabela slept and watched over her. He used the time to think, remembering Bethany's words that Isabela was hurting and in pain. Certainly his sister had been proven right, but for the life of him Hawke still couldn't determine the cause.

He had awakened this morning both determined and angry. After speaking with Bethany, although she gave him no answers, his anger had calmed and had turned into a cautious hope.

He had come here intent not only to find out what he'd done to upset her but also to proclaim the full extent of his feelings for Isabela. Something he should have done long ago, but he had and still did honestly fear the result. Isabela valued her freedom so much that he worried that even sharing something simple, let alone 'I love you,' would be too binding for her and she would leave him again. He was prepared for that eventuality, however he fervently prayed it wouldn't come to pass. If the past few weeks had shown Hawke anything it was that he and Bela couldn't continue as they were.

Not once had they ever said the words to each other. Hawke felt certain that Isabela knew he loved her and that that was why she had left him after the battle with the Arishok. He was also certain that she loved him too, but if neither actually said the words did either truly know.

However, fear about Bela's reaction to his declaration of love paled in comparison to the fear over her wellbeing at finding her in this state. Isabela was easily one of the strongest people he had ever met. To see her like this was beyond imagining. If he was not seeing it with his own eyes Hawke never would have believed it.

At seeing his love in such a state his cautious hope had turned to fear. Whatever was troubling Bela was clearly more than anything he had done. His mind raced with wild thoughts: was she sick? Dying? He forcibly pushed those thoughts aside not wanting to borrow trouble.

Sitting there with only his thoughts to keep him company Hawke found himself exhausted. The sleepless nights and hard travelling, the stress of visiting the Gallows only somewhat relieved by seeing Bethany, and finally coming here to find Isabela in this unexpected state had initially charged him with a manic energy but now without an outlet he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

…

Hawke felt the prickly sensation that he associated with someone watching him before he was truly awake. It was a conditioned response that more than once had saved his life. He opened his eyes to find Isabela watching him.

"You stayed."

"I promised you that I would."

Isabela looked like she had something to say. For certain Hawke had something to say, but before either could speak Isabela's stomach grumbled.

"First things first Bela," Hawke said with the forced cheer one used when speaking to the ill, "we need to have some dinner and then you need a bath. Dane, wet after rolling in the mud, smells like roses compared to you."

The pirate gave him a playful smack before he stood up. As he got to the door Hawke looked back and received a smile and a shoo.

Hawke returned moments later with Norah and each carried a tray overloaded with food. There was roast beef, potatoes, parsnips, rice and beans, greens, a loaf of bread and some butter, and a pitcher of water as Isabela found out when Hawke poured two mugs. It was a lot food, too much really, but Isabela appreciated Hawke's effort.

They ate in silence with Hawke finishing first, hardly surprising as Isabela hadn't eaten for almost as long as she hadn't slept. He then brought in a washing tub and began filling it himself with steaming water.

As they waited for the water to cool a bit Hawke told Isabela of his trip to Ferelden and the merchants who had insisted they meet him. Isabela could sympathize, when she had been captain of the Siren's Call she had often been forced to meet and dine with prospective clients to set their minds at ease. It was a part of the job, but something Hawke disliked even though he understood the necessity. Although being named Champion opened doors and presented new opportunities she knew that the mantle oftentimes chaffed Hawke. As the only Champion of this generation he was often gawked at on the street or presented at parties like, in his own words, some 'tarted-up whore.'

"Alright Bela get in the tub," Hawke commanded after testing the water.

It was then that Isabela realized he had no intention of leaving. Normally she had no qualms over nudity. Hawke had seen her naked many, many times before. Except now, with a clearer head, Isabela realized just how sad a shape she had been in when he found her. She was feeling vulnerable and emotionally naked, and still the original problem remained between them. She appreciated his concern, but now that the worst was behind her she wasn't sure if she still wanted him here tonight.

"I can bathe myself you know."

"Present evidence to the contrary," was the snide reply.

Isabela gave Hawke an annoyed look.

"You can get in the tub Bela or I can put you over my shoulder, carry you kicking and screaming down to the docks, and dump your sorry ass into the sea - your choice."

Resigned to her fate Isabela stripped and got into the warm bubbly water, it felt wonderful and then it got better still. Hawke knelt down beside the tub after taking his shirt off and began to wash her, massaging her muscles as he went. There was nothing sexual to his touch, if anything he seemed to be taking great pains so that she wouldn't think he was taking advantage of her, for which she was thankful for.

"Duck under so I can wash your hair," he said after washing her neck and shoulders last.

Isabela closed her eyes and did as he asked, and soon after sighed once more with delight as Hawke massaged the soap into her scalp. He had such skilled hands. Try as she might the pirate had never managed to replicate the sheer simple pleasure of someone washing her hair.

By now she wasn't surprised that Hawke insisted on drying her. Isabela didn't even put up a fight when he took out a shift from her dresser and pulled it down over her head; she rarely slept in night clothes and even then only on the coldest winter nights. It was somewhat annoying and yet at the same time it was one of the sweetest things he had ever done for her.

Even though she had only recently woken up, the meal and especially the bath left Isabela feeling tired. She yawned and Hawke insisted on changing the linen on her bed before she could again go to sleep.

Isabela lay down in bed as Hawke began emptying the tub and quickly fell asleep.

Finished with emptying the tub and disposing of the remains of dinner Hawke was going to quickly speak to Varric before returning. He was planning on spending the night either in the chair or on the floor - there was no way he was leaving her alone. He had just begun to open the door.

"Hawke, will you spend the night with me?"

He turned to face her.

"I don't mean…I don't want-" At some point Isabela had decided that she did want Hawke to stay, but she didn't want to have sex. She wanted to be clear on that.

Hawke flashed her that familiar smirk he always got when he was being a smart-ass.

"Your virtue is safe with me milady, I'll even keep my pants on."

Deciding that Varric could wait Hawke closed and locked the door. Next he removed his shirt and climbed into bed. He let Isabela position him however she wanted, ending up with him lying partially upright, propped up with pillows, and Bela lying between his legs with her back to his bare chest and his arms wrapped around her waist.

They lay in silence for a time, neither one knowing what to say.

"Did I ever tell you about the first lock I picked Bela?" Hawke asked, continuing after a shake of the pirate's head. "I was eight years old and my father had this large chest. Bethy and Carver were only three then and my father had begun teaching me what he knew of swordplay and stealth, which was not insignificant. My father was a powerful mage, but he was skilled enough with a blade to hire himself out as a mercenary. That was what brought him to Kirkwall where he met my mother. That's another story though.'

"As you might have guessed, I was an energetic child and eager to put my father's teaching to use." The both laughed at the image of a young Hawke. "To that end one night I slipped out of bed and carefully followed my father outside to the barn. He never saw me as I watched him clear away the hay and then dig up and open a chest I had never seen before.'

"At the time I didn't understand about mages, apostates, or templars. I only understood that there was all manner of treasure in that chest. There was some gold and even a few jewels but more importantly there were daggers and even a silverite sword. Of course that chest also held potions and a few poisons and some of the ingredients to make them. My father's armour and some small staves were also inside, along with some other enchanted pieces he had collected during his adventures. Nearly everything in that chest was incredibly dangerous to the stupid and unwary.'

"So of course the next day while my father was working in the fields and my mother was busy with Bethy and Carver I dug up that chest. It was heavy so I couldn't lift it out, but I dug enough out that I could get at the lock. I was small for my age, not really growing until I was twelve and by fifteen I was taller than my father. I remember trying to bash it open without success. I just didn't have the strength. I tried everything I could think of to get inside it - I mean there was a real sword inside and I was filled with visions of fighting dragons and rescuing fair maidens. Every child knows a real hero has to have a sword not the wooden toys I had been training with. I just had to have it.

"At some point it must have dawned on me to try and pick the lock, although I don't know how or why other than some unseen hand guiding me onto the path I would one day follow. I had never seen it done before and at the time it had seemed like forever, but eventually I did it. I picked that lock with nothing but a few small nails and my own tiny fingers. I was so proud of myself. I opened the chest and I only had eyes for that silverite sword. It didn't matter that it was nearly twice as big as me or that I when I swung it to the side the tip trailed in the dirt or even that it was too heavy for me to lift over my head. It was mine and I was invincible.'

"Of course unknown to me, childishly indulging myself in monster slaying in the barn, my father had come home and it was quickly discovered that I had not been out in the fields with him like Mother had thought.'

"I don't know how long they looked for me, certainly long enough for me to get a tanned backside anyways, but when my father found me swinging that sword with his chest open feet away punishment was guaranteed.'

"I had never seen my father so angry, there were flames literally coming out of his clenched fist. Of course later I would understand that it had been as much fear as anger over what might have happened. Not only had I been lucky not to have been killed by any number of items in the chest, I hadn't triggered the trap when I picked the lock which would have sent a fireball right into my face.'

"I broke into tears right away at seeing my father in flames, thinking that somehow I had caused it - remember I had no idea that he was a mage then. He calmed down and picked me up, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe. It was one of the few times I had ever seen him cry.'

"Days later I would begin to learn the Hawke family secrets, that my father was a mage and potentially I and my siblings might be as well. It didn't mean much to me then. I didn't understand that my parents had feared that I had only been able to open the lock because I had magic - that it was another added worry for them. I was only afraid that I had disappointed and angered my father - he was everything to me.'

Hawke paused as he immersed himself in memories of his father. It had been a long time since he had done so, it was too painful to dwell on.

"We never spoke about that day but I like to think he was proud of me back then - proud that I'd done something extraordinary at such a young age. He was always encouraging us wherever we showed a talent. After that day he would often 'forget' his keychain and ask me for help or find some other excuse to have me practice my skills. I was sixteen when after a promise not to use them recklessly my father gave me my first set of lock-picks. I still have them locked away in my own chest there by the desk. It hurts too much to use them now," he added mournfully, under his breath.

He looked down to see that at some point during his story Isabela had fallen asleep. It was just as well he thought as she wouldn't see him cry over the memory of his father and how badly he had failed in his promise to protect and provide for their family. How badly he had failed each of them.

…

Isabela woke to find Hawke's strong arms still enveloping her, her back still against his chest. She felt content waking up like this. She had missed it during their brief time apart.

She chuckled silently at seeing her hair lying down over her collarbone in braided pigtails. Hawke must have done it sometime after she had fallen asleep, it was a talent she didn't even know he had. Usually Isabela just tied her hair back with a scarf to keep it out of her eyes, as she couldn't be bothered braiding her hair each morning and undoing it each night. Besides which, barely restrained loose flowing hair seemed to fit her personality.

After an almost full day of sleep and a hearty meal she was almost back to her old self. With a clear head Isabela truly understood how much the stress and indecision she had felt ever since Bethany had told her she was with child had affected: her health, her mind, her friendships, and most importantly what she shared with Hawke.

Hawke had been wonderful yesterday. He had treated her better than she had any right to expect or deserved given her recent treatment of him. He had gone to great pains to care for her and treat her gently and with respect. He was there for her, just like he always was, and even if he had never said the words Isabela _knew_ he loved her. It wasn't just about sex or until someone else came along - _Hawke loved her_.

It was strange. A little while ago the mere thought of Hawke loving her filled her with worry and dread, but now she felt anything but. Now she was filled to bursting, she wanted to scream it out loud and let everyone know.

Like Hawke, Isabela might not ever be able to say the words but she wanted to show him that she knew how he felt and that she felt the same.

Isabela began to grind her ass over Hawke's groin, quickly feeling his body start to respond.

"Bela, what are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious," she answered as she twisted to face him and claimed his lips. Her hands snaked down his body and began unlacing his trousers. Her tongue forced its way into a shocked Hawke's mouth as she palmed his hardening cock, now free of his pants. She felt his hands moving across her body, up to her shoulders. He gently pushed her away.

"Stop."

"You don't really want me to stop."

"Stop Isabela, please just stop," Hawke said heatedly. Both of them knew that he normally only spoke her full name when he was upset, exasperated, or else taking a moral stance the pirate wouldn't agree with. He climbed out of bed and laced up his pants then began to pace. He was furious.

"What is wrong with you? I find you half-mad and starving after _YOU_ refused to see or even speak to me over something _I still_ don't understand. Do you have any idea how I felt?'

"You broke my nose and blackened my eye for no reason, and still _the entire time_ I was off on Varric's damned errand all I could think about was you and how I could make it up to you. Then I come back to find you like that, scaring the shit out of me, and now you think you can just fuck me like the last few weeks never happened and everything will be fine.'

"It doesn't work that way Bela. _I don't work that way."_

Hawke stopped pacing and looked deeply into Isabela's eyes.

"I love you Isabela. I know that I should have said the words long ago, but I was afraid. I was afraid that you'd leave me again. No more, I'm done being afraid." He stepped back toward her and knelt down beside the bed. "I've loved you from the moment we first met. I fought the Arishok for you Bela. I'd fight every last damned Qunari, Antivan, templar, and darkspawn for you. There are times I wonder if you had only told me about the Tome of Koslun if perhaps we could have found a different way for both the Qunari and Castillon. I wonder if I had told you then how I felt about you if maybe you wouldn't have left me.'

"We drink, we joke, we laugh, and we fuck, but we never really speak honestly to each other. No more.'

"I saw Bethany yesterday. I went to the Gallows prepared to fight my way through to her. I was looking for answers because you wouldn't speak to me. Instead Bethy told me to tell you how I feel. Well this is how I feel Bela. I love you, but you hurt me when you won't speak to me. You scarred me deeply when you left all those years ago. You wounded me again just weeks ago.'

"I know you Bela. You value your freedom and your independence and that is one of the many things I love about you, but we can't continue like this. We can't keep hurting each other and then never speaking about it. I love you Bela, but I want more for _both_ of us.

"I thought what we had was enough, that I could make somehow make do, but the time apart…yesterday…today. I just can't anymore Bela. I need more. I _deserve_ more and so do _you_. If you can't give me that or too afraid to even try then tell me and whatever we have, whatever we could become, is over. I won't settle for this any longer. I just can't.'

"If you want to leave me again then do so, but if you leave then never come back. I won't be waiting and I swear that I'll never seek you out no matter how much I might want to."

Hawke's mouth was dry from speaking, but it didn't stop him from cupping her face in his hands and kissing Isabela passionately. If it was their last kiss he wanted it to be a good one.

Silence stretched between them, becoming almost a physical thing like a thick, impassible stone wall.

He expected some reaction from Isabela, but nothing seemed forthcoming. Knowing that he had given her a lot to think on and not wishing to put even more pressure on her while she made a decision that would change both of their lives Hawke stood and prepared to leave her alone. He intended to stop and let Varric know that Isabela seemed well enough now, but after that he would avoid the Hanged Man entirely until Isabela had an answer for him, whatever it was.

"I'll be at my home when…if you want to give me your answer."

Isabela just sat on the bed stupefied. Hawke had said he loved her. He said in a way that left no doubt. Hawke had always loved her, even long before they had ever shared a bed. All the worst things she had tried to convince herself had been wrong.

It was one thing for Isabela to tell herself that he loved her, something so much more for Hawke to declare it himself.

But then he said he wanted more from her. He wanted more from her or he wanted nothing - it was either or. That was where the problem lay, where it had always lain, with her. It was the largest part of why Hawke had found her in such sorry state yesterday. Isabela honestly didn't know whether she had more to give.

_Commitment._

_Fidelity._

_Family._

_Love._

None of those things were her, but they were all a part Hawke.

She loved Hawke. Now in the face of losing him Isabela could no longer deny the truth that she too had known for some time. She loved Hawke more than she had ever loved anything else in her entire life. More than any ship or even the sea it sailed on.

But did she love Hawke enough to bare everything to him? To open herself up to him not just today but for all the days that followed. Did she love Hawke enough to risk getting hurt?

Before Isabela could answer that question though there Hawke was kissing her with every fibre of his being. His kiss held passion and life; romance and love; a raw aching desire; a hunger; and a need. It held a promise for both today and tomorrow. Yet it was also tinged with a bit of sadness as if he thought this kiss might be their last.

The kiss ended and a multitude of feelings and sensations crashed over Isabela: her heart was thundering in her chest, she was breathless and weak yet somehow charged with energy and felt stronger, and a feeling of such longing filled her like nothing ever had before. She had her answer.

"Hawke, wait."

He didn't turn around to face her but Isabela saw the tension in his body, the wondering whether her quick answer bode well or ill.

"When I saw Bethany she told me something I wasn't ready to hear. I didn't know how to deal with it and I reacted…badly and I am sorry I hit you. Bethany tried to tell me to speak to you, to trust you, but I wouldn't listen. I've spent so long relying on no one but myself that I forgot I have friends - more than friends Hawke.

"I was afraid. Before I met you my life was simple, uncomplicated. I never stayed in one place long and there was always something or more likely someone else in the next port."

"I don't care about that Bela. It's not like I was some lovestruck virgin when we met," Hawke said after turning to face her.

Isabela took a deep breath, it was so much easier to say this to his back.

"Please Hawke let me finish. I'm not that person any more. I tried to be when I left you. I tried to drive every memory of you out of my head by-" Isabela blushed a deep scarlet, "well I guess you have an idea how. But it didn't work. The more I tried to forget you the more I realized I belonged here with you for however long you'd have me. I tried to deny what it meant and instead focused only on the present because I didn't see a future where you would want me in it."

She held up a hand to stop Hawke from interrupting her, it was difficult enough without stopping.

"Eventually we slept together again and I convinced myself that there was no deeper meaning. We fucked because we were great at it together. I can honestly say that no one else has ever made me feel the way you do."

It was Hawke's turn to blush.

"It was easier to pick up where we left off, never speaking of what happened between us. But it wasn't the same as before and whether we admitted or not we both knew it. We deluded ourselves into thinking that if we never told each other how we really felt then neither of us would hurt when the other ended it - you when I left again or me when you found somebody better."

"You've fought beside me and for me and all I ever seem to do is bring trouble your way. If I'm being honest with myself I knew how you felt about me even before you fought the Arishok, I might not have truly believed it or thought myself worthy, but I knew. It scared me then and I ran away. It scares me now to hear you say that you love me and part of me still wants to run."

Hawke looked at her with such heartache and anguish that it tore Isabela apart and she started to cry. He broke eye contact and looked to the ground. She stood, walked over to him and lifted his chin to face her.

"I'm more afraid of never seeing you again; of never again falling asleep in your arms or waking up beside you.

"I love you Hawke."

This time it was Isabela who kissed him. She kissed him with everything she had until they both were breathless and in need of air. When they were done kissing the pair just held each other until finally Hawke spoke.

"Bela?"

"What?"

"If you don't mind my asking what did Bethany tell you?"

"Huh?"

"Bethany?"

"Oh right, you're going to be a father."

She felt his legs buckle as Hawke collapsed to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut, bringing her down on top of him.

"Are you certain," he asked hesitantly.

"Bethany is. I was less so, but I decided before you came back," Isabela admitted.

Hawke pulled her up onto his lap, straddling him, and kissed her fiercely. Before she closed her eyes Isabela noticed that even though he wore his lopsided grin Hawke was crying at her news.

He looked deeply into her eyes after their kiss had ended and asked, "You're sure?"

Isabela knew the question Hawke was really asking encompassed so much more than it appeared on the surface. Was she sure about him, their child, a future together, and the changes each would bring. It offered an escape if she wanted it - a future together even without their child. There would be disappointment if that was her choice, but there was also understanding, after all it would change Hawke's life too.

She had already decided though. In a moment of perfect clarity even in the depths of her sleep deprived madness Isabela had already decided. She wanted the child growing inside her - her and Hawke's child - even if he didn't. She had been absolutely certain of it when she had poured the abortive over one of the meals Norah had left in her room days ago. However, she had been too far gone to bring herself back from the abyss. Rather than fretting over the life growing inside her, she instead focused on Hawke's reaction when she told him the news. She had had terrible visions of Hawke cruelly casting her aside and denouncing the baby which he claimed was not his.

All that heartache and pain could have been avoided had she only listened to Bethany or simply trusted Hawke to be the man she knew he was. Isabela knew that now. The next time Isabela visited the Gallows in addition to telling Bethany that she was truly going to be aunt, she would tell the young mage that she was right. Bethany really was the smartest one of them all.

Isabela returned her focus back onto Hawke. Her shift was already riding up her thighs from straddling Hawke's lap but she lifted it up more, exposing her still trim stomach. She took his hands in hers and placed them over where their child grew inside her.

"I'm sure. You?"

"I'm sure."

* * *

_Thanks to spectre4hire for his review._

_Obviously I decided to keep Hawke and Bela's reunion together as one chapter rather than break it up. It makes for a long chapter, but I think it reads better. And yes I opted for the happy route._

_There is another short chapter and an epilogue to go and hopefully I'll post them both either tomorrow or Monday at the latest._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten:**

The pair left the Hanged Man though the back door, avoiding any chance of running into one of their companions, and set out for Hightown and Hawke's home. At some point they would have to tell their friends their news and Isabela knew that she would have to apologize for her recent actions but for now the happy lovers simply wanted to be alone and left undisturbed.

Hawke's home was empty, save Dane who Isabela was relieved to find seemed happy to see her.

Isabela and Hawke spent the day talking, joking, laughing, and taking comfort in each other. They spoke about their little son or daughter and the future but carved few plans in stone. They both understood that it would take some time for them both to adjust and that there was bound to be some setbacks along the way. However, they were committed to seeing them through together.

That night, after convincing Hawke that it was safe, they made slow, tender love - not rutting or fucking or any other euphemism one could name - and it was toe-curlingly incredible. Not so much that Isabela wasn't looking forward to the next time Hawke flipped her head over tits and hammered her like a bent nail, but incredible nonetheless. Sex with Hawke had always been great, but now after they both had confessed their true feelings it was somehow even better. In the past Isabela had always thought that people who said they 'made love' were idiotic fools prone to hyperbole, but now she understood that she had been the fool. Making love implied a deeper connection between two lovers, beyond simply the physical or satisfying baser needs. It was a mental and emotion connection, a sharing of the innermost parts of oneself and a desire to please one's partner more than oneself. In hindsight, and with a newly found understanding, Isabela could see that they had in fact been making love for a very long time; she had only failed to realize it. Isabela found herself misting up at this line of thought, prompting Hawke to kiss each teardrop away and she loved him all the more for it.

…

It was three days after Hawke had returned and he and Isabela reconciled that they decided to share their news. A formal dinner was set out and everyone, including Bohdan, Sandal, Orana, and even Aveline's husband Donnic, was seated around the table. The only one absent was Bethany who Isabela and Hawke saw earlier that afternoon and shared their happy news. Bethany had been so sweet to them both, and if it were even possible seemed more overjoyed than the pair. The pirate was prepared to break Hawke's sister out from the Gallows so she could be here tonight, but Bethany had refused. Like Bela had said, Bethany was the smartest one of them all.

Once the meal was finished and table cleared Isabela stood to speak. She reached out and took hold of Hawke's hand, who rubbed the back of hers with his thumb.

"I wanted to say a few things before we share the reason you're all here tonight." She paused and looked everyone in attendance in the eye, lingering longest at Merrill and Varric where she stopped. "I wanted to apologize for my behaviour over the last few weeks. That's only the last few weeks Aveline before you ask," she added quickly, drawing a few laughs. She waited until the laughter died out before continuing. "I'm sorry and I truly am thankful to count you all among my friends."

Feeling exposed at having bared so much of herself Isabela quickly said, almost as one word, "And I'm pregnant with Hawke's child. Surprise!"

Utter silence greeted her words; no one even took a breath, until Sandal spoke as if on cue, "I like surprises."

Roars of laughter filled the room.

Gradually the room came to realize that not everyone was laughing. Ten pairs of eyes came to regard Hawke who nodded his head. Disbelieving many then turned to Anders for confirmation.

"May I?" Anders asked. After receiving a nod he stretched out with his magic while everyone watched in silence.

"Dear Maker she is." Anders grabbed his glass and quickly drank its contents in one large gulp.

Once the shock wore off everyone stood and began to offer their congratulations.

The party moved into the sitting room and Orana began to play her lute, which she did beautifully. Free of the dining table and as gatherings are wont to do they broke into smaller groups. More personal congratulations, encouragements, and commiserations for Hawke should the child prove to be a girl like her mother were spoken to them both. It was heartwarming and uplifting for both Isabela and Hawke to see the reactions and hear the well wishes of their friends. It spoke well of the bonds they had all formed over the years.

"Thanks kitten," Isabela said to Merrill, "you're certainly welcome to be there when the child is born, but I do hope it's a little different from birthing a halla." The elf hugged her and then gently touched her stomach as if she could feel the tiny life growing inside. It was a gesture the pirate thought she might have to get accustomed to, at least among her closest friends and Hawke of course. She had even taken to doing it herself.

Merrill stepped aside and the pirate saw Aveline approach.

"Come on big girl," Isabela challenged, curling her fingers in a 'come and get me' gesture, "I know you've got something to say."

The room quieted in anticipation, even Orana stopped playing.

Aveline eyed the rogue carefully, studying her before speaking.

The tension built with each passing second.

"I've always been amazed that you can even stand upright with those things on your chest. By the time the baby's due you'll be so top heavy that you'll be walking on all fours," Aveline said in her dry, serious tone. Isabela was the first to laugh and the rest joined in. "Whatever else, one thing is for certain, the babe won't starve," she added over the noise.

Isabela pulled the guard captain in for a hearty embrace. Aveline whispered in her ear, "Truly, I am happy for you."

Throughout the night and into the early hours of morning the celebrations continued. No one seemed eager for it to end.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewer(s): Lotbe_

_A little later than I had planned to post this. Personally I blame the sun and the 30 degree Celsius weather southern Ontario is experiencing (although I could do without the humidity)._


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue:_  
_**

_Aboard the Sirens Call II, temporarily anchored about two days ride west of Kirkwall along the Wounded Coast in a well hidden cove._

"Ungh," Isabela grunted as another contraction took hold.

"That's good Bel, give me another push," Bethany said from her position between the rogue's legs. The once again apostate mage quickly wiped her sweaty brow on the shoulder of her dress as she prepared herself to receive the precious bundle.

Isabela squeezed the large, meaty hand gripped in her right hand as she pushed.

A cool, damp cloth wiped her forehead and Isabela looked up at the green eyed, ginger haired woman whose hand she held and nodded her thanks.

"I have the head, a few more pushes and it'll all be over."

"Good," the pirate groaned as she pushed. "Then I'll be free to break your brother's nose again. He did this to me you know and then is too chicken-shit to see what his cock wrought."

No one commented that it was Isabela who had told Hawke that she didn't want him in here. Instead he waited just outside the cabin door where they could hear his boots echo as he paced.

Mercifully, after a few more screams and some more pushes it was over.

Bethany became a whirlwind of action, almost too quick to follow.

The rogue heard a shrill cry and the rustle of linen and then there it was before her: a pink faced babe swaddled in white.

"Your son, milady," Bethany said softly as she passed over the babe into waiting hands.

Isabela felt the gentle touch of Bethany's magic, healing and refreshing her as she gazed upon her son.

He was exactly as she imagined him so many times over these past months - a perfect little Hawke just like his father - but thankfully unlike her dreams this babe was not birthed sporting a full, tiny beard.

So intent was the rogue on her newborn son that she did not see Aveline leave the room to bring the happy news to those waiting outside. Neither did she notice when the father entered or when he hugged, kissed, and thanked his sister.

It was only when a rough calloused hand that she also knew to be incredibly gentle reached out to tenderly touch her son's head that she looked up through teary eyes and saw him.

"Hawke, he's so beautiful."

"Just like his mother." He leaned in to kiss his pirate, trying to express through his lips everything that he was feeling, but knowing he couldn't.

"Bethany," Isabela called out for the mage who was more than a sister, bringing her into their small circle. She carefully passed their son to Hawke in order to embrace Bethany and whisper her thanks.

The door opened and Aveline returned with those friends who could be here: Aveline's husband Donnic, and Varric, of course. The others were either lost to them or off living their lives far from Kirkwall: Anders, martyred by Hawke for his crime; Sebastian, off somewhere in the Chantry's service; Merrill, back among the Dalish in their new homeland south of Ferelden along with Orana; Bohdan and Sandal, off to Orlais; and finally Fenris, killed by Hawke after siding with the templars and wounding Bethany in the final battle with Meredith.

"Have you picked a name yet? Varric is good, strong name for a little Hawkling."

"Hawke, you choose," Isabela said.

He looked back for confirmation and she nodded.

"Very well then," Hawke answered before continuing in a stately voice. "My Lords and Ladies, it is my distinct pleasure to introduce to you the newest crew-member and captain of the Siren's Call-"

"The Sea Sprite," Isabela interrupted, "in honour of our new captain."

"The Sea Sprite," Hawke agreed, pleased with the choice, "Malcolm Carver Hawke."

"Malcolm." A subdued cheer went up in deference to the newborn babe. However, it was still enough for him to stir. The babe certainly had the lungs of a Hawke.

As if he was a diseased darkspawn or a crazed templar wielding a red lyrium sword, Hawke quickly passed Malcolm back to Isabela as if she'd know better what to do.

Fortunately for them both Malcolm did, reaching his tiny hands out for her breast as soon as Isabela brought him close.

"Just like his father," Varric joked, slapping the elder Hawke on the back.

"Times like this call for a celebration. We'll be back in a minute," the dwarf said happily, pulling Donnic along behind him and granting some privacy for the babe to feed.

Bethany helped Isabela adjust her shift and quickly Malcolm took up her breast. It was an odd sensation for the pirate, and yet deeply fulfilling.

Aveline moved to Isabela's free side, opposite the Hawke siblings, and looked at each in turn. She took a moment to reflect upon all the memories, both good and bad, since meeting the Hawke family on that darkspawn infested road outside Lothering. They had all come so far, lost and gained so much.

As if sensing the tone of her thoughts Hawke reached across the bed and offered his hand which she took and he squeezed in support and understanding.

Aveline looked down at Isabela, surprisingly content with a babe in her arms. She and Donnic had been talking about a child of their own, but with Kirkwall still recovering from Anders and Meredith there was so much to be done.

_Time waits for no one._

Aveline distinctly heard her late husband Wesley's voice in her mind as if giving his blessing and encouragement.

Isabela taking up her free hand brought Aveline back to the present.

"You look like you're about to cry Big Girl. Didn't think I had it in me?"

"You did good slattern, you did good," Aveline bent down and kissed Isabela's cheek.

"Aveline," Hawke said with feigned anger, "you are speaking about the mother of my son and my future wife."

"You still haven't wed?"

"We've been a bit busy ferrying apostates and trying to stay out of the templars path. Besides we couldn't find someone we trusted to perform the ceremony."

"Can't captains on a ship do it?" Aveline asked.

"You can't do it," Isabela interjected. "You're just a guard captain not a real captain."

"Do you want to marry Hawke or not?" the guard captain answered.

"Fine, but remember that I outrank you."

"I thought he was the captain now," Aveline pointed to Malcolm, still blissfully unaware and suckling at Isabela's breast.

"Oh, touché prig!"

Varric and Donnic returned and after a few preparations a hastily prepared ceremony has performed right there in the room where not even an hour before Isabela had given birth. It might not be recognized by the Chantry or ever written down in some official record, but for Isabela and Hawke the simple ceremony was more than enough. The words simply codified a commitment the pair had already made to each other.

After the ceremony was over and muted celebrations begun Isabela looked around the room at each person in turn, feeling their joy over Malcolm's birth and her union with Hawke.

Isabela reached out and Hawke carefully sat down beside her on the bed. He wrapped his left arm around her and gently placed his right hand over hers on their son. "I love you Bela." She leaned up to receive his kiss and came to a few conclusions.

She was done running.

She had found a home surrounded by all those she loved.

And finally, once she was physically able, she and Hawke would see about giving baby Malcolm a sister. She already had the name picked out, _Marian_.

_- Fini - _

* * *

_A/N: As I said in the beginning I wanted to push Isabela's boundaries (my own as well) and for her to grow as a character, and in that I think I was reasonably successful. A committed relationship with Hawke and motherhood are definitely a far cry from the Isabela we meet in the first act, but I think a natural progression for her and in keeping with the game's epilogue._

_Having said that I cheated a little by setting the story late in the third act. To me the three years apart and then Isabela and Hawke choosing to rekindle their romance are an integral part of their shared love story. Without it I don't think their feelings are developed enough for their choices here to be plausible._

_You might disagree, but I think that if Isabela found out she was with child in the second act, before the Qunari uprising for example, her response would be quite different. In that scenario I think Isabela drinks the abortive without ever telling Hawke - she's attracted to him, but it's not love yet, it's just sex. When Hawke fights the Arishok for her Isabela realizes the depth of his feelings. Her secret hangs over Isabela, breaking her, and she leaves Kirkwall except this time she doesn't return. If you see it playing it out differently then by all means write a story about it, I'd love to read it. Likewise if someone wants to take that scenario and run with it - be my guest, I'd love to read that too. I did consider writing this version, even it is awfully morose, but decided that I didn't have the chops to pull it off._

_In any event that's the end of my story and I suspect the last I'll write of this particular Hawke and Isabela, but then again I never expected to revisit 'Recriminations' and write this so who knows. I hope that you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it._

_To everyone who read my story, everyone who put it on alert and especially to those who added it to their favourites or who took the time to leave a review, I cannot adequately express how much it means to me so I will simply say **Thank you**._

_Now that this story is finished I promise to get back to work on my long stagnant stories Betrayal of Love and Trust and Give Antiva My Regards. It was never my intention to let them sit idle for so long, but you know what they say about the best-laid schemes of mice and men - they often go awry._


End file.
